


May Our Days be Merry and Bright

by luckie_dee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: Anyone who knows anything about the Broadway duo of Bittle and Birkholtz knows that they met when Bittle pulled Birkholtz to safety during an air raid on Christmas Eve in 1944. Few people remember that Bittle saved another man as well, one who owns an Inn that Bittle and Birkholtz show up at ten years later. A ZimbitsWhite ChristmasAU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Effyeahzimbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effyeahzimbits/gifts).



> **Warnings** : A few swear words, mild sexual content (frotting, hand jobs, implied intergluteal sex), non-graphic depictions of wartime violence and injuries, the author's very limited knowledge and time to research military ranks, mentions of background character death, mentions of canon-typical events in Jack's past, blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to a past relationship between Jack and Kent, Holster is a ladies man, mutual relationship of convenience between Holster and Camilla Collins. Also, I've borrowed some characters and songs from the movie, and used/paraphrased a few lines.
> 
>  **Author's Note** : WHEW. This was supposed to be about 10K, but it turned into this behemoth. Written for [effyeahzimbits](https://effyeahzimbits.tumblr.com/) for Sweawesome Santa 2017. I hope you enjoy! And I hope that you and everyone who sees this has a very happy holiday with loved ones. ♥︎

Anyone who knows anything about theater knows that the duo of Bittle and Birkholtz met when they were serving together in war-torn Europe.

Most of those people know that they became friends because Bittle pulled Birkholtz to safety during an air raid on Christmas Eve in 1944.

Some newspaper and magazine articles mention that Bittle also grabbed the arm of one of his unit’s sergeants, saving that man’s life as well.

Few people remember that.

*

The 151st Division was encamped in the bombed-out ruins of a village, under half-standing walls of stone and brick that stood as a testament to the misery of years of war. The troops, however — including one Private First Class Eric Bittle — were enjoying a moment of levity on Christmas Eve. This took the form of entertainment provided by Corporal Adam Birkholtz, who had gained some notoriety on Broadway before deploying, supported by Bitty (a nickname bestowed by his fellow soldiers) himself. The assembled crowd was cheering and clapping, singing along when they knew the words, and generally taking advantage of the change in command that was taking place.

They really should have been lined up for inspection, Bitty knew, but he absolutely did not care. He hadn’t shirked his duty when his number had been drawn, but he’d hated almost every moment since. He would gladly accept any diversion from the fact that he was thousands of miles from his home in New York City, and even farther from his family in Georgia, from his _mama_. He’d take anything, _anything_ to distract himself from thinking about how he was near the heart of the battle and about to get closer, as their division was slated to move up after their new General arrived.

Even better was the fact that he’d managed to forge a connection with Adam Birkholtz. They’d planned this holiday clambake together, and Bitty had some hope that maybe, if and when they returned to the States, Holtzy (as he insisted Bitty call him) could help him find a spot in a show. Bitty didn’t mind making bakery deliveries, but it wasn’t what he’d escaped to New York to do.

After a rousing song and dance number, Holtzy gestured for quiet and announced, “All right boys, let’s settle down so you can catch your breath before the slam-bang finish we’ve got cooked up for you. Here’s something a little quieter.” And then he sang, his deep voice rich with feeling:

_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas_  
_Just like the ones I used to know_  
_Where the treetops glisten_  
_And children listen to hear_  
_Sleigh bells in the snow, the snow_

_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas_  
_With every Christmas card I write_  
_May your days be merry and bright_  
_And may all your Christmases be white_

With each word, Bitty felt his buoyant mood dissipating, only to be replaced by a longing ache. It was Christmas Eve; back home, his mama would have baked cookies and trimmed the house to its last corner. Bitty hoped that she still had, even with him gone, because then he could imagine himself there, with gingerbread in his mouth and evergreen in the air. Christmas may not have been white in Georgia, but Adam’s song was still making him long to be there.

Looking out at the faces of the division, Bitty knew he wasn’t alone. The crowd was a sea of somber expressions. Even Sergeant Zimmermann, normally sharp-eyed and gruff, looked sad, regarding the ground at his feet with downturned eyes and a wistful expression. Bitty was surprised to see him there at all — he wouldn’t have expected that particular Sergeant to participate in anything that approached _fun_. Bitty let his gaze linger and allowed himself a moment of fancy, trying to guess who or what Sergeant Zimmermann was thinking about. Bitty didn’t know much about him. Who had he left behind when he crossed the Atlantic? Surely a man as handsome as the Sergeant had left a beautiful girl back home.

Zimmermann’s eyes flickered up to meet Bitty’s, and Bitty averted his quickly. As much as a dishonorable discharge would relieve Bitty of continuing to serve, he couldn't stand the thought of putting his family through the shame of it all.

Meanwhile, Holtzy brought his song to its conclusion and allowed for a moment of poignant silence before making his next pronouncement: “Well, fellas, that’s just about all we’ve got for you tonight. As you all know, we’ve gotta get ready to say good-bye to one of our own. I had hoped that General Waverly might be able to join us tonight so that we could give him a proper sendoff, but —”

A sharp call of “ _Attention!_ ” interrupted this speech, and Bitty — along with everyone else — scrambled to attention as General Waverly himself rose from a seat near the rear of the assemblage. He cut an impressive figure as he approached, commanding and stern-faced with silvering hair. Bitty caught another glimpse of Sergeant Zimmermann’s face, this time set with shock and dismay.

“Who, may I ask, is responsible for putting on a show in this advanced area?” General Waverly demanded, coming to stand before Holtzy. “Was it you, Corporal Birkholtz?”

Bitty could see Holtzy beginning to assent, and something came over him — an impulse spurred by a burning desire to stay on Holtzy’s good side. Bitty spoke up, overriding Holtzy, his heart thundering in his chest. “It’s my fault, Sir. It’s Christmas Eve, Sir, and Corporal Birkholtz has a fine singing voice, so —”

General Waverly cut him off. “I am well aware of Corporal Birkholtz’s capabilities. Who are you?”

“Private First Class Eric Bittle, Sir.”

Bitty felt like he was under a microscope as General Waverly stared at him, no doubt on the verge of unleashing a well-deserved and very public lecture. In the end, he just gave a sharp nod and barked, “At ease, Private.”

“Yes, Sir; thank you, Sir,” Bitty said, not relaxing a muscle.

General Waverly gave him an odd look and turned to face the crowd. “This division is now under the command of General Harold Carlton, and he won’t let you forget it. He’s tough; exactly what this sloppy outfit needs.” He cast an appraising eye over the troops. “You might even learn to march. And if you don’t give him everything you’ve got, why I — I’ll come back, and I’ll fight for the enemy. Which means all that’s left to say is — is how much I… What a fine outfit this…” Bitty watched in surprise as, for the first time, he saw General Waverly overcome with emotion, struggling to maintain his composure. “I guess what I want to say is Merry Christmas,” he finally finished, gruff.

“Merry Christmas,” the men chorused in response.

“Thank you, Sir,” Holtzy said, and the two men exchanged a salute. “It just so happens that we’ve prepared a little something for you to wrap this up. I’m going to run through it once, then I want everyone to join in. All right? Listen up!”

He started singing again, a rousing tune this time:

_We’ll follow the old man_  
_Wherever he wants to go_  
_As long as he wants to go_  
_Opposite to the foe_

_We’ll stay with the old man_  
_Wherever he wants to stay_  
_Long as he stays away from the battle’s fray_

_Because we love him! We love him!_  
_Especially when he keeps us on the ball_  
_And we’ll tell the kiddies we answered duty’s call_  
_With the grandest son of a soldier of them all_

Bitty watched a mirth and amusement rippled through the crowd, and when Holtzy started the song over, he joined in, along with many of the others. General Waverly chuckled, but he was still clearly touched by the gesture. Bitty smiled as the first reprise ended and the second began.

Until he heard it.

The sound was barely discernible at first, drowned out by their voices raised together. It as low, both unremarkable and insidious at once: the drone of incoming aircraft. Bitty gasped and turned, scanning the skies until he found them. It was just a small squadron, not a full blown assault, but the explosions that started beneath them were as deadly as if there had been a hundred planes. At the too-near thud and boom, the singing stopped and chaos ensued as men scrambled for cover.

Bitty’s heart was in his throat as he leaped from the stage. He skirted a large wall, still standing a story and a half high, tailed closely by Corporal Birkholtz and, he was surprised to find, Sergeant Zimmermann. As he waited for one of the officers to give some sort of order, another bomb fell, entirely too close, shaking the ground and spattering debris. The stone wall shivered dangerously, which Bitty could see, but the other two men couldn’t. Acting on instinct, Bitty grabbed for both of their arms and yanked them away, under the cover of a nearby transport vehicle. The wall collapsed behind them — safely, Bitty thought, until he heard Sergeant Zimmermann’s pained cry.

When Bitty twisted to look, he saw that the Sergeant was only half under the shelter of the vehicle, and several stones had fallen directly onto his left leg. “ _Shit_ ,” Bitty muttered, as the planes swept overhead again. Tears stung his eyes, but he had no time for them. Although Sergeant Zimmermann was easily half a foot taller than Bitty and clearly outweighed him by a significant measure, Bitty scooted forward, grabbed him by the armpits, and _heaved_. Hotzy, cradling his left arm, called after Bitty in alarm.

“I’ve got him,” Bitty grunted. With superhuman effort, he managed to tug Sergeant Zimmermann to safety and flopped back, winded, chest heaving.

They stayed there, cowering, until the danger passed.

*

The next day, Bitty stepped into the infirmary, hoping to find Holtzy and see how he fared. More than a handful of men had been wounded in the attack, but most of the injuries were non-grievous. He located Holtzy easily: he was sitting up on the edge of a cot just a few feet away, a sling on his arm, nodding at the instructions of a medical officer. Bitty waited for their conversation to end, then approached.

“Corporal Birkholtz,” he said in formal greeting, punctuating it with a salute that Holtzy returned with his non-injured arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad, Private. Just a scratch, and it would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t been there,” he replied. “I’ll be back on the field before you know it. You weren’t hurt?”

“No, sir. Just — rattled.”

Holtzy nodded, then gestured for Bitty to take a seat beside him. “Listen, Bittle, you are a goddamned _hero_. If that wall had beaned me? I’d be wearing a lot worse than this sling. You saved my life.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bitty said modestly, uncomfortable with so much praise. He hadn’t felt particularly brave or heroic in the moment, and getting himself and the others to safety had been an act of impulse than anything else. “It was just a reflex.”

“A reflex that saved my life,” Holtzy reiterated, “and the Sergeant’s. I owe you a huge favor. Anything you want — now if you want, or when we get home, just say the word or pick up the phone.”

And that gave Bitty pause. He was a _little_ reticent to spin his panicked flailing into something he didn’t deserve, but a man had to look out for his future, didn’t he? Eric took a deep breath and said slowly, “Well, sir, I _did_ come to New York in the hope of getting on stage. Not as a star, of course, but I thought I might be good in a chorus. Maybe — when we get back — if you wouldn’t mind putting in a good word —”

“Of course!” Adam boomed, drawing the attention and ire of several men in nearby cots. He clapped Eric’s shoulder with his good hand. “There’s always a place in the show for someone who dances as well as you do. And your voice isn’t half bad either. I’ll talk to the producers as soon as we’re back on U.S. soil. You’ll be dynamite.”

“Oh goodness!” Eric exclaimed. “You don’t need to do all _that_. Maybe just put in a good word at a few auditions? I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

Holtzy fixes him with a serious look. “Trouble? You took the trouble to save my _life_. Don’t worry about it for a second. It’s no trouble at all.”

“Well,” Bitty said, flustered and pleased, “thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do. Sarge and I couldn’t be more grateful.”

Bitty nods, his stomach twisting. He’s not sure the Sergeant has much to be grateful for — his leg had looked absolutely awful when Bitty last saw it. “Is Sergeant Zimmermann here somewhere?” he asks, glancing at the surrounding cots.

Hotlzy points across the tent. “Over there. Sounds like his leg is in bad shape, and they’re sending him back. Maybe even home.”

“Home?” Bitty echoed. He found himself feeling wistful all over again, and for the briefest of seconds, he wished that the wall would have fallen on his own leg instead. Then he could go back to Georgia, and Sergeant Zimmermann — a consummate and dedicated soldier — could remain. It’s a foolish notion, and Bitty shakes his head to clear it.

“Well, to a hospital back in the States,” Holtzy elaborated. “And home, eventually, I’m sure.”

Bitty looked fretfully at the cot Holtzy had indicated. It definitely contained the shape of a man, one flat on his back with a heavily bandaged leg. Beyond that, Bitty couldn’t see much. “Should I go say something, do you think?”

“That’s up to you,” Holtzy said with a shrug. “I know he’s grateful. Maybe he’d like to thank you himself.”

“Okay,” Bitty said, pushing himself to his feet. He approached Sergeant Zimmermann with trepidation, especially when he got closer and could see that the Sergeant wasn’t really _doing_ anything. He was just lying there, his head resting on his hands, staring blankly at the sloped ceiling of the tent. Bitty wondered if he might be drugged, even though morphine was in scarce supply. But then his boots scuffed in the dirt, and Sergeant Zimmermann’s eyes flashed over to him, sharp as ever.

Eric snapped to a halt and saluted. “Sir.”

Sergeant Zimmermann extracted one hand to return it. “Bittle.” He didn’t look or sound particularly pleased to see Bitty; perhaps Holtzy had been wrong about his level of gratitude.

Now that he was closer, Bitty couldn’t help glancing at the Sergeant’s injured leg, or at least the part of it that extended beyond the thin blanket draped across his midsection. There wasn’t much to see: it was wrapped in a dusty cloth dotted with bloodstains, all the way to the Sergeant’s toes, which looked swollen and were purpled with bruises. “How do you feel, Sir?”

The Sergeant scoffed quietly. “I won’t be dancing a jig any time soon.”

Bitty found his mouth twisting into something that wanted to be a smile, but wasn’t. He didn’t know if it was supposed to be a joke — it was hard to imagine Sergeant Zimmermann dancing a jig with two good legs — but even if it was, Bitty’s natural sympathy was overriding any humor he might find in the situation. “I’m so sorry.”

Sergeant Zimmermann sighed, casting his eyes aside and slumping against the weary cot. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing, and thanking you. I’m just… coming to terms.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Bitty assured him. He looked at the Sergeant’s leg again. “It’s a significant injury.”

“It is.”

“I hear it’s bad enough that they might send you home.”

Bitty had expected it to lift the Sergeant’s spirits. Half the fellows in the trenches, if not more, would have loved to be Stateside again. The words just deepen the trouble on Sergeant’s Zimmermann’s face, however. “No _might_ about it, Bittle. I’m homeward bound.”

“I don’t suppose it would help for me to say that I’d trade places with you if I could,” Bitty offered.

“It doesn’t,” the Sergeant said bluntly, but when he turned his gaze back to Bitty, his expression was noticeably softer, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Bitty nodded. There wasn’t much more to say, so he raised his hand in another salute. “Good luck to you, Sergeant Zimmermann.”

The Sergeant saluted in return, then extended his hand. “Jack,” he said.

“What?” Bitty asked, staring at the Sergeant’s hand in shock.

“Call me Jack,” he explained. “I’m not going to be anyone’s Sergeant soon.”

“Jack,” Bitty repeated, taking his hand and shaking it slowly. “Good luck to you, Jack.”

The Sergeant's grip was firm and his eyes were fierce and sad as he said, “Good luck to you, Bittle. Give ‘em hell.”

Bitty nodded, and left the medical tent without another word. He didn’t see the Sergeant again for a good many years.

*

Eric Bittle didn't die in the war. After the Allied forces claimed victory, he returned to New York City and got back behind the wheel of a bakery delivery truck. He didn't stay there for long, however; before more than a few months have passed, Holtzy secured him a spot in the chorus for his next show. That alone didn't give Bitty the means to quit his day job, but it gave him the opportunity to get to know Holtzy better. The friendship that had tentatively sprouted on the battlefields of Europe flourished in New York, and the pair soon put together their own act, comprised of duets they practice — and later write — between numbers, then outside the theater.

It ballooned so quickly that it left Bitty dizzy. One week, they were performing in small, dingy clubs to dismal crowds, and what seemed like the next, they were receiving thunderous applause at some of the best joints in the city. Then there were records to press and radio shows and offers to get back on stage, and Bitty threw himself headfirst into all of it. He worked with a manic energy, making the show everything it can possibly be, focusing so hard that he forgot about whatever other troubles might be lurking at the back of his mind. ( _Why isn’t Coach prouder of everything we’re accomplishing? He couldn’t even crack a gosh darn smile when I gave him our last album for Christmas. I miss my mama still, even though we're living the life. If I hear about another one of my friends is finding someone to settle down with when I can’t, I’ll scream_.)

What started as a modest revue becomes a smash hit, and he and Holtzy were back on the Broadway stage, this time as headliners. Through it all, Bitty was always planning their next move, which is how they became, a mere ten years removed from D-Day and both less than thirty-five years old, successful Broadway producers with a show to take on the road.

And that's how they find themselves in Florida, late in December of 1954.


	2. Chapter 2

They’ve just closed the curtain on their last performance before heading back north, and Bitty can’t find Holtzy. He wanders the backstage area, absently loosening his bowtie and wiping his warm face with a handkerchief that comes away smudged with stage makeup. He’s interrupted briefly by an assistant, who hurries up brandishing two tickets. “Here you are, sir,” he announces, passing them to Bitty. “I managed to find you a drawing room on the one-AM train to New York. Last ones available; everything’s booked up for the holidays.”

“Thanks,” Bitty says with genuine relief. “We were hoping to get in ahead of the crew to take a look at the rehearsal space. Everything has to be just perfect — this gig on the John Johnson Show for New Year’s is going to be great publicity for the show, but if something goes wrong, it’ll go wrong in front of a million people.”

“Probably more,” the assistant puts in, and Bitty’s stomach twists. It must read in his face, because the other man is quick to add, “But it’s all going to be slam-bang spectacular! Especially with two weeks off and nothing to do but relax and rehearse. I can’t tell you how much the whole crew Is looking forward to the break.”

“Good,” Bitty says, trying to shove the whole thing out of his mind for the time being. There’s enough to worry about before then. “Say, have you seen Holtzy anywhere?”

The assistant waves vaguely over his shoulder. “I saw him back that way a few minutes ago,” he replies. Bitty thanks him and goes back on the hunt.

When he finally does catch sight of his onstage partner, Holtzy is chatting up two female members of the chorus, who are half-in and half-out of costume, wearing robes with elaborate headpieces. Bitty should have known.

“Birkholtz!” he calls, walking over to interrupt. “Got a minute for an old friend from the army?”

Holtzy looks mildly put out, but quick as a wink, he puts on a smile and slides one arm around each of the women’s waists. “Bitty! Have you had the chance to meet Doris and Rita?”

“How do you do, ladies?” Bitty asks, as politeness dictates, but he casts a narrow-eyed look at Holtzy.

“Mutual, I’m sure,” one of the women purrs, sidling over into Bitty’s space.

Bitty does his best not to actively recoil, but he does edge away, patting her arm. “Will you excuse us for a moment? Holtzy?”

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” he grumbles. He gives Doris and Rita a regretful look. “I’ll be just a minute or two. Wait here?”

As Bitty turns and walks away, he can hear the women remarking on his lack of decorum, but he's too busy being annoyed at Holtzy to take much offense. Holtzy catches him quickly with a long stride and asks, full of boyish enthusiasm still, “Hey, you don’t mind if I grab a bite with Doris and Rita, do you? You’re welcome to join us, but well —” he drops his voice “—I assumed you wouldn’t be interested.”

They reach the door to their dressing room, and once it’s safely shut behind them, Bitty snaps, “Of _course_ I’m not interested. And you don’t have time to be. Get changed — we’re heading to Novello’s to check out an act.”

Holtzy lets out a put-upon groan. “It’s our last few hours in Florida, Bits. Can’t I have _some_ fun before we head back to the frozen tundra?”

Bitty snorts. “I’m sure a little snow isn’t going to prevent you from flirting with those two once we’re back in New York. This, on the other hand, is our only chance to check out this act. C’mon, hop to it.”

In reply, Holtzy heaves an immense sigh, but he’s already sliding his bowtie off. “You’ve gone absolutely berserk with work, you know that?”

“You think we got here by sitting still?” Bitty counters, shucking his tuxedo jacket. He remembers the tickets in his pocket at the last moment and retrieves them to pass to Holtzy, who’s already in a fresh suit jacket. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“Of course it is, but I want to have some fun too,” Holtzy complains. “All of this was fun when I started. Our act used to be fun! What’s the last time you had any fun?”

Bitty scowls down at his shirt buttons, finally getting them open and changing for a less formal one. “Tonight, out on that stage. I always have fun performing.”

“Yeah, Bits, you definitely look like someone who just had a grand old time,” Holtzy says, his voice spilling over with sarcasm. “You’ve got a bee in your bonnet about something, and you might as well tell me, because I won’t be quiet about it until you do.”

“I know that much is true,” Bitty mutters. He heaves a sigh as he finds a pair of trousers to wear to Novello’s. “Fine. I think it made me angry to see you with Doris and Rita because — because I wish I could. You know, find someone. Be with someone.”

“Now, there’s a problem that has a solution!” Holtzy crows. “When we get back to the city, you can head straight down to the Meat Rack and —”

“ _No_ ,” Bitty cuts him off sharply. “Not like that. I want more than just a fling. I wish I could have a real relationship with someone. I don’t think I’m cut out for anything else.”

Holtzy slams a drawer shut, and Bitty glances over to see that he’s coiffing his hair in the mirror. “I think you’re selling the Meat Rack a little short. Who’s to say that not one of them wants a real relationship?”

Bitty snorts. “What am I supposed to do? Start at one end of the line and go through them one by one until I figure it out?”

At that, Holtzy lets out a hearty guffaw. “That’s my plan! New York City’s full of chorus girls. And if none of them end up wanting to settle down, more’s the better.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Bitty says, shaking his head. He slips a necktie over his head and begins setting the knot. “And anyway, I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to. I’d be risking my whole career. If just one man would go to the papers and spill the beans…” He lets his voice trail away, he’s expression sour. “You know the term blackball? Because they’d do it to you too.”

Holtzy’s mirth fades. He looks up to meet Bitty’s gaze in reflection, his expression somber. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Lonely and miserable.”

Bitty rears back and sits to pull on his shoes. “I may get a little lonely, but I’m not _miserable_. I’m perfectly happy.”

“Well, then you’re happy for the wrong reasons, and that’s the same as being lonely and miserable, except it’s worse.”

“How is it worse?”

Holtzy huffs. “Because you’re making _me_ miserable! Do you know the last time I had so much as an afternoon off?”

Bitty arches an eyebrow at him. “The day before we hopped on the train to head here. So — two weeks ago?”

“And before that, it was probably two years! Listen, if you can find a man who wants to take you out to lunch once a week, that’s _forty-five minutes_ I’d get to myself, and maybe I could get a massage or something.”

His shoes tied tight, Bitty straightens in his chair. “Listen, I’ll — I’ll think about it, okay? I don’t want you to be unhappy either.”

Holtzy looks at him hopefully. “Does that mean you’ll let me go get some grub with Doris and Rita?”

“I’m afraid not,” Bitty replies, boosting himself to his feet. “The act at Novello’s is expecting us.”

“Can’t you just go by yourself? Why do we need to take a look at them anyway?” Holtzy grouses. “We don’t need another act. What is it, anyway?”

“A sister act.”

Predictably, Holtzy perks up. “A sister act? Well, I suppose it doesn’t hurt to give them an audition.”

Bitty rolls his eyes and shoves him out the door. “I thought that might pique your interest. Let’s go.”

*

Within seconds of setting foot inside the club, Novello himself descends on Bitty and Holtzy to escort them to a table bordering the performance space. “The Haynes sisters are going on in just a few minutes,” he informs them. “They’re overjoyed that you’re here to see them.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Bitty says graciously.

“How did you find out about this act, anyway?” Holtzy asks, voice low, as Novello scurries away to see to their drink order.

“Do you remember Ollie O’Meara? From the army?” At Holtzy’s nod, Bitty continues, “He sent a letter and said that if we were in town, we should swing by. Apparently they’re family friends.”

Their drinks arrive, and shortly thereafter, Novello reappears on stage with a microphone and grandly introduces, “the Haynes sisters!”

Two women sweep into the performance space, both wearing elaborate and sparkling blue dresses and carrying large feathered fans. When their music starts, they launch into song:

_Sisters, sisters_  
_There were never such devoted sisters_  
_Never had to have a chaperone, no sir_  
_I’m there to keep my eye on her_

_Caring, sharing_  
_Every little thing that we are wearing_  
_When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome_  
_She wore the dress, and I stayed home_

It’s a charming song, equal parts sweet, flirtatious, and comical, but Bitty regards the sisters with a critical eye. One sister is a glamorous blonde with a neat bob and a fine figure, the other has elaborately styled dark hair and a girl-next-door air. They have strong voices — the brunette more so than the blonde — but the blonde is a little more graceful. He glances over at Holtzy to gauge his reaction, and immediately sees that Holtzy isn’t doing any sort of critical analysis: he’s flat-out staring with rapt attention. Bitty sighs and turns back to watch the end of the number. He supposes that means that the sisters are appealing to a more traditional male audience than himself. He applauds politely when the song ends, while Holtzy vociferously pounds his hands together.

“Still missing Doris and Rita?” Bitty mutters, leaning over to make himself heard.

“Who are Doris and Rita?” Holtzy jokes in return. He signals for Novello, and asks him to bring the Haynes sisters to their table, and orders each of them a glass of champagne in advance.

It’s what Bitty would have done anyway, but he has a sneaking suspicion that the upcoming conversation just became a lot less business-related.

The Haynes sisters make their way out a short time later. They introduce themselves as Camilla and Caitlin, “but call us Cam and Cait!” As they slide into their seats, a waiter arrives with their champagne, and Caitlin exclaims, “Oh, what’s this?”

“To celebrate a successful performance!” Holtzy announces, lifting his in a toast. They all clink glasses.

“So,” Camilla begins, once they’ve all taken a sip, “what were your thoughts about the act? We’re open to any suggestions you have. Maybe Cait should be blonde? Or I could grow my hair longer.”

“Oh _no_ ,” Holtzy replies moonily. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Caitlin turns to Bitty. “What do you think, Mr. Bittle?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing about your looks,” he says, in all honesty. “But please, call me Bitty. Everyone does.”

“I wasn’t sure if it was just a stage name.” Caitlin shoots Camilla an inscrutable look. “So, does that mean all the stories are true? Did you really save Mr. Birkholtz’s life?”

Before Bitty can answer, Holtzy interjects, “If you’re going to call him Bitty, please, call me Holtzy. And I know it doesn’t look possible, but this man pulled me away from a collapsing wall with bombs exploding all around us. He’s a hero, and I have the scars to prove it.”

Caitlin looks thoughtful, but Camilla turns her attention from Bitty back to Holtzy. “Well, aren’t you lucky! I hope you weren’t injured _too_ badly.”

“Just a scratch,” Holtzy replies, patting his arm. Bitty can tell that he’s surreptitiously flexing his muscles under his jacket, and he barely has the stomach for whatever mating ritual is about to unfold.

“You poor thing,” Camilla coos.

Holtzy doesn’t need any further encouragement. He leans toward her, smiling wolfishly. “The good news is it hasn’t affected my dancing one bit. Care to chance it?”

Camilla beams at the invitation. “I’d be delighted,” she replies, and they’re up and off.

It leaves Bitty in a bit of an uncomfortable position. He should ask Caitlin to dance, and he has no qualms about dancing with women — has done plenty of it, in fact — but he doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea, to assume that whatever is going on with Holtzy and Camilla has any hope of repeating itself. Decorum perseveres, and he nods at the dance floor. “Would you like to join them?”

To Bitty’s relief, she shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’d rather talk to you for a few minutes more, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Bitty says.

Caitlin takes another thoughtful sip of champagne. Bitty can’t tell at all from her changing expression what she might be mulling over, and for a moment, it seems like she might not say anything. Finally, she does. “It’s more of a confession than anything else.”

Bitty feels his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

After a fortifying breath, Caitlin continues in a rush. “Camilla and I aren’t _really_ sisters. We’re not related at all. It makes me feel just terrible, because it’s the silliest lie, and anyone could find out the truth with the simplest bit of research. It’s just — neither of us was having much luck making it on our own, and sister acts are so popular. It was all Cam’s idea. I’m so sorry we brought you out here for a lie. Like I said, I feel awful about it.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Bitty exclaims, holding up his hands. “Slow down, take a deep breath, and don’t feel so bad. It’s just your angle; that’s all. This is show business — you won’t find anyone without an angle. It’s nothing to apologize for.”

Caitlin doesn’t appear to be mollified. “I never wanted to play angles, but here I am. And worst of all, it’s working!”

“That just means you picked a good one,” Bitty assures her. “I mean it. You show me a successful act, and I’ll show you someone with an angle.”

“Oh?” Caitlin asks, suddenly suspicious. “What’s yours?”

Bitty tuts. “Now, Miss Haynes, just because you obliged to share yours doesn’t mean I have to reveal mine.”

Caitlin smiles at him, but then she goes shamefaced again. “If you like angles, I suppose you’ll be glad to hear that the letter was a fake too.”

“The letter? What letter?” Bitty asks in confusion.

“From Ollie. Your army pal, the one whole told you that you should see us? He didn’t write it. He’s got a job in Alaska and he’s been out of the country for months. Cam wrote it.”

She looks so uncomfortable that Bitty reaches over to give her hand a quick pat. “Honey, _please_ don’t feel so bad. The fact that you have enough of a conscience left to feel bad means that you’re miles ahead of these other fame-and-fortune types. And like you said, it worked, didn’t it? Holtzy and I are here, and we watched your act, and it’s wonderful! Not only that, but we might have sparked a love connection. What do you think?” He nods toward Holtzy and Camilla, who are still dancing, grinning at each other.

“More angles,” Caitlin admits, her voice low. “Cam’s just trying to snuggle up to the famous Holtzy of Bitty and Birkholtz.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Bitty says. He motions for Caitlin to lean in. “He’s not _quite_ ready to walk down the aisle either.”

Caitlin lets out a surprised chuckle. “Maybe they’re not such a bad match after all.”

Bitty lifts his champagne glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Hear, hear,” Caitlin replies, raising her own glass to toast.

Their conversation turns more mundane after that: Caitlin asks questions about how to improve the act and how to make the jump from nightclubs to Broadway. Bitty’s only too happy to give her advice, especially when she’s so frank and friendly. They chat through several more songs, until Caitlin is obliged to start searching for Camilla so they can get ready for their next number. Bitty offers to help, and they finally locate the pair on the club’s outdoor terrace, just finishing up a dance with Holtzy dipping Camilla in dramatic fashion.

Caitlin rolls her eyes. “What’s this? The best two out of three?”

Camilla bobs back to her feet. “Sorry, Cait. I guess I lost track of time.”

“We’ll, you’d better find it again. We’re on in ten.”

Just as she finishes speaking, Novello hurries out to join them, worry spread across his features. “ _There_ you are. Ladies, I have some bad news. The sheriff is here for you, and he’s got a warrant!”

Bitty looks at Caitlin in surprise. “The _sheriff_?”

“It’s probably that beastly old landlord,” Camilla complains. “He’s claiming that we burned a hole in the rug and owe him two hundred dollars.”

“Not that old hole-in-the-rug routine!” Holtzy exclaims, and Bitty shoots him a long-suffering look. “I tell you what — we can get you out of this jam. Novello, you go tell the sheriff they can’t have the girls until they finish their act, and Bits and I’ll help them sneak out.”

“If you’re so keen to help, why don’t we just pay the two hundred dollars?” Bitty asks wryly. Somehow, Holtzy has to turn everything into a dramatic adventure.

As Bitty had expected, he looks offended at the suggestion. “Pay _that_ rat? No sir! Are you in, Novello?”

Unfortunately, Novello appears to be swept up in the excitement. “I’ll hold ‘em off as long as I can, Holtzy. Be quick, because in ten minutes, they’re going to find out there is no second act.” With the pronouncement, he whisks away.

Bitty sighs. “All right, kids, let’s get to it.”

In a body, they hustle to the sisters’ dressing room, where Camilla and Caitlin start flinging their wayward belongings into cases and trunks. As soon as one is full, Holtzy lifts it out the back window. He also directs Bitty to get a taxi to pull around back, and by the time Bitty’s accomplished that, Holtzy is helping Camilla and Caitlin shimmy out the window. Together, they stow the luggage in the back of the car.

When the sisters are safely installed in the backseat, Bitty ducks his head in the open door. “It was a pleasure to meet you both,” he says, by way of farewell. Truth be told, he hadn’t planned to spend the evening skirting the law, so it’s a bit of a relief to see them go.

“You too, Bitty,” Camilla responds, flashing him a dazzling smile. “We hope to see you again soon.”

“ _Real_ soon,” Holtzy adds, and Bitty starts to find him standing so close. “Thank you for the dance, Cam.”

“It was my pleasure,” she purrs. “Goodbye, boys!”

Caitlin, looking annoyed, adds, “Goodbye, Bitty. Goodbye, Mr. Birkholtz. Drive on!”

BItty turns a frustrated eye to Holtzy as the taxi pulls away. “It’s always something with you, isn’t it?”

He holds up his hands. “I was just doing a favor for our new friends. Do you want us to start out a new business relationship on the wrong foot?”

“Business relationship?” Bitty snorts.

“Well, you want to add them to the show, don’t you?”

“Not if you’re going to get into some ridiculous entanglement that’s going to end badly and cause all of us a lot of pain and misery.”

“I would never!”

They continue to bicker as they round the outside of the building, eager to leave before the extent of their mischief is discovered.

*

From Novello’s, Bitty and Holtzy head straight to the station, and their adventure has taken so long that they just manage to climb into the train as it’s pulling away. Bitty is exhausted, and he can’t wait to crawl into bed in their drawing room. Relief breaks over him in a wave — at least until the porter approaches and asks for their tickets. They both watch as Holtzy pats down his pockets and then says to Bitty, in the most unconvincing manner imaginable, “I think I gave them back to you.”

“You most certainly did _not_ ,” Bitty replies. “Check again.”

Holtzy does, even going so far as to take off his hat and look inside of it, but he comes up empty. “I must have misplaced them.”

“ _Misplaced_ …” Bitty grumbles. Holtzy is his oldest, closest friend, but somehow whenever women are added to the equation, his brains get scrambled. With tickets clearly not forthcoming, Bitty pulls out his wallet and turns back to the porter. “How much for two tickets to New York? We had a drawing room.”

The porter looks at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, sir, but every available space on this train is booked. I can let you sit up all night in the club car, and the cost is ninety-seven dollars and twenty-four cents.”

“The club car?” Bitty asks in dismay. All he wants to do is lay down his weary head. “Are you absolutely sure there’s no way we can get our drawing room back? It was 35-A.”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

Shooting daggers out of the corner of his eye at Holtzy, Bitty starts fishing money out of his billfold. “All right. You said it was ninety-seven dollars and…?”

“Twenty-four cents,” the porter says.

Holtzy puts out a hand, interrupting the exchange of cash, and interjects verbally as well: “How much more is fare to Vermont?”

Bitty stares at him. Maybe his brains are more than scrambled; maybe they’ve left him entirely. “We’re not going to Vermont; we’re going to New York.”

“But think of how beautiful Vermont would be this time of year!” Holtzy insists. “All that snow?”

“Two tickets to New York,” Bitty says firmly to the porter, knocking Holtzy’s arm out of the way to hand him the bills. The porter gives him change and directs them along a corridor toward the club car. Bitty starts down it, stormy faced and muttering the entire way.

“They probably just gave the drawing room to someone else in the holiday rush,” Holtzy suggests, “because we got here so late.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bitty tosses back. He pauses at the door to drawing room 35-A, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “We could be in there, right now, getting ready for a good night’s sleep in two warm, comfortable beds. But instead, we’re going to be up all night in some drafty old club car —” His rant is interrupted as the train sways around a curve, knocking Bitty off balance. He bumps into the door, jarring it open, much to his mortification. Before Holtzy manages to swing the door shut again, Bitty catches a glimpse of blonde and brunette hair, as well as two startled, feminine faces.

Bitty waits until they’re seated in the club car to speak, and by then he’s simmering with anger. He glares evenly across the table at Holtzy, who looks at once both defiant and embarrassed. “Please, Holtzy, please tell me that after putting me through a near run-in with the law that made us so late we barely caught our train at all, you didn’t give away our tickets because you want to go the distance with Cam. You wouldn’t do that to the man who saved your life, would you?”

“Well, now, listen —” Holtzy starts, but he’s interrupted as Camilla and Caitlin sweep into the car, smiling.

“Holtzy! Bitty!” Camilla exclaims. “We can’t begin to tell you how grateful we are that you helped us get out of Florida tonight. Our tickets weren’t until tomorrow.”

Caitlin beams at Bitty. “You really got us out of a jam. Thank you so much!”

Holtzy turns to Bitty as well, smiling smugly. “You were saying, Bits?”

Bitty can’t stay upset in the face of so much gratitude, and he sighs. “I was saying, why don’t we have a sandwich. Would you care to join us?”

They order sandwiches and hot chocolate and take over one of the tables, Holtzy and Camilla tucked comfortably together on one side, and Bitty and Caitlin sitting at a more respectable distance on the other. When they’re settled, Bitty asks, “So, what are y’all planning to do in New York?”

“Oh, we’re not staying in New York,” Camilla replies. “We’re headed on to Vermont.”

“We’re booked there for the holidays,” Caitlin adds.

“Vermont, you say?” Bitty narrows his eyes across the table at Holtzy, who doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

Caitlin nods happily. “I can’t wait to get there. I bet it’s going to be beautiful this time of year.”

“All that snow,” Bitty agrees. He says it absently, without much feeling. Growing up in Georgia hasn’t left him with any nostalgia for snow, but it does look lovely on greeting cards and in pictures.

“I wouldn’t mind strapping on some skis,” Holtzy puts in.

Camilla seizes on it, tucking herself a little more firmly into his side. “Oh, you should come up and stay for a few days! We’ll be at the Columbia Inn in Pine Tree, Vermont. I’m sure they have all the ski trails you’d ever need.”

“Yes, please do,” Caitlin says. She turns on the bench, angling herself more toward Bitty to fix him with a broad smile. “You can see our whole act, and we would _so_ appreciate more of your advice.”

Bitty sighs, wondering how many more times they can possibly gang up on him while he’s too exhausted to object. “If Holtzy doesn’t mind, we could come to Vermont for a day or two,” he acquiesces, already knowing that Holtzy won’t mind a whit.

The other three all exclaim and clap, and when they arrive in New York, Bitty lays out a few more dollars to buy tickets to continue on to Vermont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Meat Rack was a real place in New York City, that I learned about in [this article](https://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-leddick/being-gay-in-the-world-of-mad-mad-men_b_1519549.html).


	3. Chapter 3

After he awakes on the train to Vermont — in a drawing room, thankfully — Bitty bundles up, putting on multiple warm layers topped with a heavy winter coat and fleece-lined hat. Even after years in New York, he hasn’t quite acclimated to Northern winters, and he’s sure that conditions in Vermont are going to be worse than anything the City can dish up.

He’s wrong.

When they meet up with Camilla and Caitlin and step out onto the platform, they’re greeted by bright sunshine and balmy air. It feels like a winter day in Georgia, and Bitty immediately starts sweating under multiple layers of cotton and wool.

“Did we get on the wrong train?” Holtzy wonders, looking around. “It feels warmer here than it did in Florida.”

“They announced Pine Tree, Vermont,” Bitty points out. He pulls off his hat, but he’s carrying bags over each of his shoulders and can’t do much else.

Camilla waltzes over to a station guard and asks, “Say, where’s all the snow? This is supposed to be America’s winter playground!”

The man snorts. “Tell that to Mother Nature, miss. We haven’t had any snow since Thanksgiving. It was sixty-eight degrees yesterday.”

“Well, doesn’t that just beat all,” Caitlin says. “Shall we get to the Inn?”

“Yes, please,” Bitty urges, herding them all toward a waiting taxi cab. “I need to change my clothes.”

Camilla laughs. “At this rate, we can change into suits and go for a dip.”

The Inn, when they arrive, is charming but appears deserted. There are no cars or guests outside the main hotel, any of the surrounding cabins, or the large ski lodge. No one appears to greet them or help them with their luggage, and the lobby is empty as the group trundles in with their bags. Once inside, Bitty finally sheds his jacket while Holtzy approaches the desk and rings the bell.

Bitty half expects that no one will appear, that they’ve wandered even further into some eccentric scheme or that the sisters have truly been duped, but a few moments later, a woman does emerge from a back room. She appears to be around their own ages, she’s dressed as casually as Camilla and Caitlin, and Bitty is confused about who she might be — perhaps a proprietor? He’s never known a woman to own a property like this, much less one who isn’t white, but it would be wonderful if it were the case.

In any case, the expression on the woman’s face reads somewhere between confusion and hope. “Can I help you? If you’re looking to stay, I can offer you any room in the place except mine.”

Camilla steps forward and offers a handshake. “Hello. We’re the Haynes sisters — your floor show.”

The woman’s expression dims, and her next blink is more of a wince. “Damn,” she mutters, to Bitty’s shock. He sees a few other raised eyebrows as well. “I’m very sorry, but we won’t be able to use you with the Inn this empty. We can offer you half salary for the cancellation.”

“Oh,” Caitlin says, sounding deflated. “I suppose — I suppose that’ll do.”

“That probably means you two won’t be staying either?” the woman asks, rounding on Bitty and Holtzy.

Bitty shifts uncomfortably, and Holtzy scratches his neck. “Well,” Holtzy finally replies, “if Cam and Cait are going…”

“Is business really so bad?” Camilla asks, her voice threaded with a tinge of desperation. “Do you get a crowd for dinner?”

“For dinner?” the woman says incredulously. “Folks in town are still using their barbecues, and we’re hanging our laundry on the ski lift.”

They’re interrupted by a door banging open on the other side of the lobby, and a tall man edges through, carrying an armful of fireplace logs. He draws up short when he sees the assemblage in the room, looking at the group dumbfounded while they stare right back.

Bitty recovers first, snapping to attention through some miracle of nearly-forgotten muscle memory, his arm raising in salute. “Sergeant Zimmermann!” he exclaims.

“Sir,” Holtzy barks, echoing Bitty’s movements.

It is, indeed, that man: ten years older than when Bitty had last seen him, with threads of silver in his dark hair, but his face is as sharp and recognizable — and handsome — as ever. And, Bitty thinks privately, he's cutting as fine a figure out of uniform as he ever had in it. The Sergeant's expression is different though, something in it gentler and more amused than Bitty had ever seen in war-torn Europe. “At ease, soldiers,” he says, and although the set of his lips suggests that he wants to laugh, he doesn’t. “And good afternoon, ladies. Please, call me Jack. Would you like rooms?”

“These are the Haynes sisters,” the woman answers for them. “I let them know that we’ll pay them half salary, even though we need to cancel.”

“Cancel?” Sergeant Zimmermann wonders. “Why would we do that?” He deposits the wood in a rack near the fireplace, moving a bit stiffly, and retrieves a cane that had been propped near the door.

“Well, who are they going to perform for?” the woman challenges him.

“Us,” he says, and Bitty suddenly realizes that this woman might be his wife. The thought makes jealousy rise, unfair and hot, in his chest, circling right around his heart, which is picking up pace as Sergeant Zimmermann approaches the group. If Bitty’s memory isn’t failing him, the Sergeant looks even better now than he had as a younger man. Perhaps it has to do with the new softness in his face, but as attractive as it is, Bitty can’t help but notice that it’s a bit sad too. “Pleased to meet you,” he says, offering his hand first to Camilla.

Bitty hates her expression as she steps forward to shake it. There’s no doubt that she too has taken note of the Sergeant’s good looks. “Camilla Haynes,” she says smoothly, smiling up at him, “and the pleasure is all ours, I’m sure.”

It’s some relief that Sergeant Zimmermann pulls his hand away promptly to greet Caitlin as well.

“We have a contract,” he says after that exchange of pleasantries, “and your first performance is at six-thirty tonight. Be there, or I’ll sue.”

He delivers this pronouncement deadpan, but Bitty thinks it’s supposed to be a joke. Camilla takes it as one, giving a trilling laugh. “Well, if it’s in the contract,” she banters back, and Bitty glances over in time to see Holtzy looking miffed.

“I’d like you to stick around for a day or two, at least. With as much as my knee has been acting up, it has to snow soon,” Sergeant Zimmermann adds, although he sounds unsure.

“I’m sure we’re more than happy to stay,” Camilla is quick to assure him. “Aren’t we, Cait?”

“We certainly are,” Caitlin chimes in, although her agreement sounds far less lascivious than Camilla’s.

Sergeant Zimmermann moves to the back of the desk and produces two sets of keys. “We had to lay off most of the staff, so Larissa and I will show you to your rooms.” He looks up, his eyes shifting between them. “Who’s staying with who?”

Bitty motions to Holtzy at the same time that Camilla takes Caitlin’s arm. “One room for the girls and one for the boys,” she announces.

“Yes, we’re all just friends,” Holtzy grumbles. Camilla either doesn’t notice or doesn’t deign to respond.

Larissa takes one keyring from Sergeant Zimmermann and orders, “Well then, Haynes sisters, follow me. You’ll be in cabin three, and we’ll put these boys right next door. If you decide to change those arrangements later, it’s up to you.”

Once again, Bitty is startled by her brashness, but he just arches his eyebrows again and follows both Sergeant ZImmermann and Holtzy out the door.

The women split away toward a modest bungalow, and Bitty, Holtzy, and Sergeant Zimmermann continue on toward its neighbor. When they’re out of earshot, Holtzy shoots a grin over at the Sergeant and asks, “So, how have you been, Sarge?”

“I’m all right,” Sergeant Zimmermann says, leading them up to the door and opening it. Bitty steps around him carefully, but can’t avoid the way his shoulder brushes past the Sergeant’s chest.

“Never expected to see you working at an Inn in Vermont,” Holtzy comments. He steps into the cabin and looks around, nodding his approval.

The Sergeant chuckles. “Oh, it’s worse than that. I own this place.”

“It’s a beautiful property,” Bitty speaks up, finding his voice. And it is — the Inn is nestled amongst fir trees that even Bitty has to admit would look lovely trimmed with snow, and beyond them, the ski hills climb toward the sky. The main hotel building is picturesque, and the cabins are charming and cozy. It’s a place that _should_ crawling with guests.

“Thanks, Bittle,” Sergeant Zimmermann says, giving him a small smile.

“And you run the hotel with… your wife?” Holtzy asks, hoisting a suitcase onto the far bed. Bitty just barely manages to not roll his eyes at the obvious question.

“Who, Larissa? No, we’re not married. She was engaged to my best friend, but he didn’t make it through the war. She’s raising their daughter, and she’s had a hard time making ends meet. So now that I have this place, I want to make sure that she and Bernice have a place to live.”

Bitty has to turn away to hide his swoon.

Holtzy, on the other hand, just sounds disappointed as he muses, “How does a woman with a name as unique as Larissa choose a common name like Bernice?”

“Oh, she’s named after her father,” Sergeant Zimmermann explains.

“Her father’s name is _Bernice_?”

“No,” Sergeant Zimmermann says.

There's an awkward moment of silence where Bitty expects him to go on, but he doesn't, so Bitty swings back to face the room again. “Well, that’s very kind of you.”

The Sergeant shrugs. “It’s the least I could do. I’ll leave you to get settled in. Dinner starts at five-thirty in the lodge.”

“Thank you,” Bitty says, but it gets lost under Holtzy’s more boisterous, “Good, I’m starving!”

Still, Jack responds to it. “You’re welcome. Oh — and Bittle?” Bitty’s head snaps up. “There’s a dress code, just so you know. Three sweaters maximum.”

Bitty flushes and sputters.

Jack grants him another small smile and slips out, leaving Bitty’s heart fluttering in his wake.

*

Bitty and Holtzy delay going to the lodge until shortly after six, waiting until they can catch Camilla and Caitlin’s first act. They perform a rendition of “Sisters” that’s every bit as charming as it had been in Florida, only to a much smaller audience. In addition to the one Bitty and Holtzy are sitting at, only two other tables are occupied, one of those by Larissa and her daughter. Jack emerges from somewhere behind the scenes to watch, standing at one edge of the room, his shoulder propped against the wall.

Camilla and Caitlin are consummate professionals, performing as if to a full house — except for the way that Camilla throws Jack a special smile or two. Bitty hates it, and he hates that he hates it. It’s not fair for him to be upset about any potential attraction between the two, and when the number is over, he tries to make up for his unflattering jealousy by clapping with extra enthusiasm to fill the empty space in the room.

After they’ve changed, the sisters join their table for dinner, which is, in Bitty’s opinion, quite good. Beautiful scenery, comfortable accommodations, good food — there’s no reason why the Inn shouldn’t be crawling with guests, except for the fact that there’s no snow to ski on.

Larissa approaches as they’re in the middle of the meal. “Did you all get settled in? Are you enjoying the food?”

The group choruses their approval, and Bitty adds, “I was just thinking to myself that this place is going to be a smash hit once you get a few people here.”

“Well, I wish they’d hurry up and arrive,” Larissa replies, a shadow of worry crossing her face. “Jack’s sunk everything he has into remodeling it, and I know the bills are coming due.”

Bitty frowns.

*

When it’s finally time to settle down and go to sleep, Bitty finds that he can’t. Everything is such a blur — it’s hard to believe that a few short days ago, he’d been in Florida, preparing to return to New York City, and now he’s in Vermont, at a hotel owned by Sergeant Zimmermann.

Holtzy is propped up in his bed, flipping through some entertainment magazines he’d grabbed when they switched trains in New York. He glances up when Bitty slides his feet into his slippers and grabs for a thick robe. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m just going to take a walk. I can’t sleep.”

Holtzy shrugs, well accustomed to the vagaries of Bitty’s sleep schedule, especially when he’s under a great deal of stress. “Don’t get lost in the woods.”

“I won’t,” Bitty promises as he closes the door quietly behind himself.

He’s greeted with a lungful of pine-scented air, still too warm for December, but chilled enough that Bitty wishes he’d taken his jacket as well. He debates going back in, but then starts away from the bungalow without it, toward the base of the snow-bare ski hills.

As Bitty rounds the back corner of the lodge, he startles at a figure some twenty or thirty feet away, dimly outlined in moonlight and leaning against a tree. A brief inspection reveals this to be Sergeant Zimmermann, with his face upturned toward the slopes and the stars. Bitty intends to slip away and leave him to his quiet contemplation, but as he turns to go, a twig snaps underfoot and the Sergeant turns toward him sharply.

He relaxes visibly when he catches sight of Bitty. “Is that you, Bittle? What are you doing out here?” The words are a bit accusatory, but his tone reads only curiosity.

“Just taking a little stroll,” Bitty replies, approaching and tucking his robe more firmly around himself. “I was having a hard time getting to sleep.”

Sergeant Zimmermann turns more fully toward him. “Nothing wrong with the room, I hope?”

“Not at all, Sergeant. I’ve just got a lot on my mind I guess.”

The Sergeant lets out a low chuckle and drops his eyes. “I’ve asked you twice now to call me Jack.”

“Twice?” Bitty asks, his brow wrinkling.

Sergeant — Jack — nods. “The first time was almost ten years ago.”

“Oh!” Bitty lets out a nervous titter. “Of course. Jack.”

They lapse into silence. Jack seems comfortable enough with it, lounging against the tree again and turning his eye back to the heavens, but it makes Bitty feel itchy. Should he stay? Should he go? Should he say something? It seems that he always decides to say something, and this moment is no different. “What made you decide to open an inn?” he asks.

“Oh, I, euh…” Jack starts, then pauses for a moment. “It’s a long story. I guess it’s something I thought about for a while, and when my father passed away, he left me enough money to go follow through. That’s about it.”

Bitty squirms, remembering what Larissa had told them over dinner. “Well, it’s wonderful,” he says, speaking nothing but the truth. “You picked a great spot, and you fixed it up real nice.”

“Thanks, Bittle,” Jack replies, with a note in his voice that Bitty hasn’t heard before. He’s not sure exactly what to call it — gratitude? relief? surprise? “What have you been up to since you came home?”

This time, Bitty lets out a real laugh, but he reins it in when Jack swivels to regard him with confusion. “Wait. Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know,” Jack adds. He’s as stoic as ever, and Bitty realizes that Jack really has no idea about his career.

“You are disconnected from the world up here, aren’t you?” Bitty muses. With a quick shake of his head, he continues, “Holtzy — uh, Corporal Birkholtz and I have a show on Broadway.”

Jack looks suitably impressed with this announcement. “You’re in a Broadway show?”

“Yes,” Bitty says. “Been in lots of them. But we also wrote this one, and produced it. It was such a smash in New York that we’re touring around the country now.” Jack’s eyebrows climb up his forehead as Bitty continues to talk, and Bitty’s grin widens. “You must not keep up with entertainment news?”

“I confess I don’t.”

“Well, you’d have read a lot about Bittle and Birkholtz if you did.”

Jack nods contemplatively. One corner of his mouth ticks up, but it’s a pale echo of Bitty’s broad smile. “Congratulations, then. Do you enjoy performing?”

“I love it,” Bitty confesses, and that much is true. The rest of it — the writing, the planning, the auditioning, the meetings, the advertising — is grueling and sometimes obscures the joy that being on stage actually brings. And that’s what it is for Bitty, a joy and a thrill, to make an audience laugh and applaud. “It’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was just a wee thing.”

If anything, his answer makes Jack look even more pensive. “How wonderful,” he says, “to live out your childhood dreams.”

“Yes,” Bitty agrees, but he’s subdued.

Jack seems to pick up on it, turning again to face him. “It really is. Don’t mind me. I’m just — feeling a little blue, that’s all. It’s a beautiful evening, but there isn’t a cloud in sight, which means no snow.”

Bitty turns to the sky. It really _is_ beautiful — the thick blanket of night scattered with cold pinprick stars that are all at once a million miles away and close enough to touch. “Maybe some will roll in overnight,” he offers.

“Maybe,” Jack says doubtfully. He huffs out a breath that steams in the air and when he speaks again, he sounds deliberately bright. “So, are you good at it?”

“At what?”

“Singing, dancing, entertaining the crowds on Broadway?”

“Oh goodness,” Bitty demurs, letting his eyes drop all the way from the stars to the ground, unaccountably flustered. “Well, I’m certainly better at it than I was at being a private.”

Jack gives him a bemused look. “You were fine at that.”

Bitty stares at him. “Jack. You didn’t let me have a moment’s peace. If I wasn’t late for mess, my uniform was untidy. If my uniform wasn’t untidy, I was marching out of step. If I wasn’t mar—”

“All right, all right, peace,” Jack interrupts, chuckling and holding up a hand. “That was my job.”

Bitty humphs. “Well, you certainly did it well.”

“Better than anything I’ve done since, I assure you,” Jack says. He’s still wearing a tiny smile, but it’s sad.

It’s a precious bit of honesty, Bitty realizes, and he frowns as he wraps his arms around himself, an unconscious gesture against the cool night air. “What have you been doing since the war?”

Jack shutters off immediately, his face going from soft and melancholy to distant so fast that Bitty doesn’t even recognize his own regret in asking until it’s too late. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” Jack answers. “And then I opened the Inn, which, as you’ve seen, is going gangbusters.”

“It’s a lovely Inn, Jack,” Bitty says, hoping to smooth things over. “You just need to get people to see that and you’ll be booked through spring.”

“That does seem to be the trick,” Jack agrees. He squints at Bitty in the dim light. “Are you cold?”

“No,” Bitty lies.

“You’re shivering. Do you want my jacket?” He’s already shrugging out of it, which is easy enough because it hadn’t been buttoned in the first place. Jack’s tolerance for cold is obviously very different than Bitty’s.

Bitty shakes his head. “No, really. I should be getting back anyway. Holtzy will start to wonder if I’ve been dragged into the forest by bears.”

Amusement ghosts across Jack’s face. “We can’t have that.”

“All right. Well then… good night,” Bitty stammers. “Unless you’re going to walk back…?”

Jack resumes his position leaning against the tree. “I think I’ll stay here for a little while. Have a good night, Bittle, and please, don’t actually get dragged off by a bear.”

“I won’t. Good night, Jack,” Bitty repeats. He backs away a few steps before turning to make his way back to his bungalow. Before he rounds the lodge, he takes a final glance over his shoulder at Jack. Now that he knows where Jack is standing, the outline of his figure is visible, but his expression is hidden. Bitty finds that he’s imagining it sad and wistful, and he can’t help but feel that he’s not too far off.

He frowns thoughtfully, sets his jaw, and strikes out for the cabin. Jack may have been hard on him back in the military, but his current situation is tugging at Bitty’s heartstrings — and not just because the sight of him sets Bitty’s pulse racing. He wants nothing more than to help, and he thinks he knows how he can do it.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, the courtyard between the main hotel and the lodge is bustling with activity. Bitty looks on proudly — he’d had the entire show delivered to Vermont in under forty-eight hours, from the sets to the costumes to the cast and crew. Holtzy hadn’t been _thrilled_ with the cost, but he’d been slightly mollified when Bitty had pointed out that it would give them an opportunity to integrate the Haynes sisters into the act, and therefore, give Holtzy a chance to get back on Camilla’s good graces.

For his part, Bitty is banking on a Christmas Eve performance to draw a crowd to the Inn, an audience that will see its charm, come back again and again, and tell their friends and neighbors who are looking for a vacation destination.

Jack, however, is standing beside him, looking on in bewilderment. “I’m still not sure I understand why you’re doing this,” he says, watching as two crew members carry a large piece of scenery into the lodge.

Bitty beams at him. “Because it’s an ideal location, of course! I said to Holtzy, wouldn’t the lodge be just ideal for rehearsing the show? And he agreed.”

“If you say so.”

“Plus it’ll give us a chance to test out new material on the audience,” Bitty continues. “You know, use them like guinea pigs.”

Jack huffs. “Pigs, I can get you. I’m not so sure about people.”

“With all due respect, Bittle and Birkholtz never have any problem packing ‘em in,” Bitty says. “You just leave that to us.”

“If you say so,” Jack repeats, shaking his head. “Apparently, there’s a lot about show business I don’t understand.”

It’s Bitty’s turn to snort. “Only everything.”

“Lucky I have the cream of the crop here to teach me, eh?” he jokes, and his smile makes Bitty blush.

He manages to gather himself for a retort. “And don’t you forget it. Rehearsals start at two o’clock sharp, if you want to watch.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Jack says.

*

The first rehearsal is impressive. Bitty makes sure it is, leading off with an rousing, all-cast number complete with showy props and stunts in the choreography. He tells himself and the rest of the performers that it’s because he wants to begin with a high-energy number that they know they’re good at, to get back into the swing of things and kick the whole thing off with a bang. He knows, below that conscious decision, that he’s showing off for Jack — who will, throughout the course of the performancce, learn that Bitty is, in fact, an _excellent_ showman.

Indeed, when the group finishes with a flourish, it’s to three sets of enthusiastic handclaps — one each from Jack, Larissa, and Bernice. When Bitty checks Jack’s reaction specifically, he looks genuinely wowed, his eyes sweeping across the stage, catching here and there, and Bitty turns and calls for attention before he can see if one of those sticky spots is where Camilla is standing. He instructs the group to break apart to work on specific areas of the number, and to practice incorporating Camilla and Caitlin into the action. Then, he strolls nonchalantly from the stage, under the guise of finding a drink of water.

He chooses a pitcher that just so happens to be located on the table where Jack is sitting, alone. “What happened to Larissa and Bernice?” Bitty asks. He pours himself a glass of water and takes a long sip.

“Larissa had to take her to a dentist appointment,” Jack says. “They wanted me to tell you that the number was wonderful, and they can’t wait to watch more.”

Bitty nods. “And what did you think, Sergeant Zimmermann?”

“Are you sure you want an opinion as uneducated as mine?” he counters, a teasing smile creeping across his lips.

“Sure, plenty of your kind come to our shows,” Bitty fires back. “It’s good to know what their opinion is too.”

Jack chuckles. “I’d venture a guess that they would find that number very good.”

Bitty puts his glass back down and lifts an eyebrow. “Just good?”

“They have a limited vocabulary and don’t know how to talk about —” Jack waves a hand at the stage “— all of this.”

“So then _good_ is their highest form of praise?” Bitty asks.

Jack’s smiling in earnest now. “They might even go so far as to say great.”

“Might they now?” Bitty grins back. “That is high praise indeed.”

“The very highest,” he replies, looking right at Bitty, and Bitty finds that he has to turn away.

When he does, his gaze lands on a few pictures hanging on the wall nearby. They feature a handsome man and woman; in several, they’re together, but there’s also a glamour shot of the woman and one of the man on ice skates. There’s one hockey stick above the grouping and one below, forming a sort of bracket. Bitty regards them curiously — unless he’s wildly mistaken, the man has to be Jack’s father. He’s practically a spitting image. “Are those your parents?” Bitty asks.

Jack cranes to look over his shoulder, even though he must have some idea what Bitty is looking at. When he swivels back, his mirth has visibly dimmed. “That they are.”

“You look just like your father,” Bitty comments.

“We have a lot in common,” Jack says, then he frowns. “Well, we _had_ a lot in common.”

“Oh?”

Jack’s face twists into a grimace. “He passed away. I guess I told you that already. It was about two years ago. There was a car accident.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bitty says. He drops into the chair next to Jack and fixes him with a sympathetic look. “How terrible for your family.”

“Just for me.” Jack drops his eyes, and his fingers clench on the tabletop. “My mother died not long after I got back from the war. Cancer.”

Bitty is quiet. His instinct is to reach for Jack, to offer comfort in the squeeze of a shoulder or the press of a hand, but he doesn’t move. After a moment, he breaks the silence that’s fallen between them. “You know, I always felt terrible that even though I managed to pull you away from that wall, I didn’t do it fast enough. You still got hurt. But now, I think I’m glad.”

Jack tilts his head. “Glad? About my leg?”

“If you’d gotten away clean, you wouldn’t have been sent home,” Bitty explains. “But because you were, you got to spend some extra time with your parents. Especially your mama.”

He watches as Jack mulls that over. “I guess I haven’t really thought of it like that before,” he finally says.

In his thrill at being able to offer Jack some comfort, Bitty actually does lift a hand and briefly touches Jack’s forearm before yanking it back. “I’m sure she was glad to have you around.”

“She was. Papa too.”

Bitty looks back up at the display. “He liked hockey?” he ventures, taking in the sticks and the skates again.

Jack seems relieved at the change of topic. “You could say that. He played professionally, and then coached.”

“No kidding?” Bitty says. “That’s an interesting profession.”

“I always thought so. It’s what I was going to do. Play, that is.”

Bitty twists back to face him, eyes wide. “You are just full of surprises, Jack Zimmermann.”

A self-conscious little smile crosses his face. “I was good at it, and I loved it. I wanted to be just like my dad, but after I got back, well — my knee wouldn’t allow it.”

The color drains so suddenly from Bitty’s face that he can feel it. “Oh _no_ , Jack — I ruined your chance to follow in your father’s footsteps, didn’t I? Why I couldn’t have been a few seconds _faster_ —”

“Bittle,” Jack interrupts. His voice comes as a surprise, but it’s nowhere near as shocking as the fact that Jack reaches out to press his hand to Bitty’s shoulder, gently, just for a moment. “You didn’t ruin anything. If that wall had come down on me, I couldn’t have played hockey because I wouldn’t have been alive to do it.”

“ _Is there an Eric Bittle in the house_?” a voice suddenly booms from the stage, and Bitty looks up to see Holtzy waving at him. “Care to join us for a few minutes?”

Bitty jumps to his feet, flustered on several counts. “Of course! I’ll be right there.” To Jack, he says, “Well, maybe everything turned out the way it was supposed to, didn’t it?”

Jack’s face is thoughtful. “Maybe it did.”

Pivoting abruptly, Bitty heads back to rehearsal.

*

The next few days bring more of the same: rehearsals continue, with Camilla and Caitlin integrating more and more, and the snow gives Vermont a wide berth. The days are warm and lively, and Bitty enjoys them immensely. He forms and easy friendship with Caitlin, and finds himself engaged in a few quiet but high-spirited conversations with Larissa. The only thing that dampens his spirits are the times when Jack glances at the sky or at the empty guest register and sighs.

Bitty has ample opportunity to gauge Jack’s moods, because he’s suddenly underfoot more often than not. He watches number after number with quiet concentration, then asks Bitty any number of questions when they’re over, if Bitty is available. ( _”How long did it take you to write that one? How do they throw her up in the air like that without dropping her? Which is your favorite routine?”_ ) Bitty is elated every time, even though he doesn’t know if he’s being given any special treatment. He’s pretty sure that he’s seen Jack do the same thing to Holtzy when he doesn’t have access to Bitty.

Even worse, Bitty’s seen him do the same to Camilla.

Maybe he’s just a curious person, Bitty thinks. He hadn’t particularly gotten that sense from Jack back in their army days, but then again, he hadn’t exchanged any personalities with Jack back then. He finds that he’s glad of it now — with how attractive he’d found Jack at the time, knowing that underneath the gruff exterior, he was kind and inquisitive with a wonderfully dry sense of humor that he unleashes when it’s least expected, well. That would have added an extra layer of misery to Bitty’s days in the service.

It’s certainly doing something to him now.

Holtzy doesn’t help. One evening, a few days later, as they’re settling down to bed, he says, in a thoughtful tone that usually spells trouble, “Hey, Bits?”

“Yeah?” Bitty replies, bracing himself.

“You don’t suppose,” Holtzy starts, his voice low and conspiratorial, “you don’t suppose that the Sarge is… you know… _interested_ in you, the same way that you’re interested in him?”

Bitty blanches, then struggles to rein in his expression as quickly as possible. “I’m not interested in him!”

Holtzy scoffs. “Please, Bits. I have eyes.”

The thought that he’s being obvious enough to be noticed even by Holtzy makes Bitty’s stomach churn. “Do you think he knows?” Bitty all but whispers.

“Are you listening to me? If he knows, I think he’s over the moon about it.”

Bitty’s whole body is running at extremes, from his icy hands to his flushed face to the mess of dread, nerves, and tentative hope curling in his stomach. It’s all enough to make him feel sick, and he crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl. “I don’t even know why you’re saying any of this,” he mutters. “It’s just plain mean.”

Holtzy leans back and gives him a long, considering look. “I’m saying it because he’s always close by you all of a sudden. Every time I turn around, there you are and there he is right next to you. You just look very cozy, that’s all.”

To say that Bitty hasn’t taken note of — and been thrilled by — how often Jack is choosing to spend with him is a lie. There’s no reason for it to mean anything, however; Jack has been lonely, so it must be a relief to have someone he already knew just turn up on his doorstep.

The rebellious voice in Bitty’s head reminds him that Jack had known Holtzy too, and definitely better than he had known Bitty, but he’s not spending any special amount of time with him. He’s seeking out Bitty first, and when Bitty’s not around, he’s splitting his time equally between Holtzy and Camilla.

Camilla.

Bitty turns towards Holtzy with narrowed eyes. “I think you’re just seeing things,” he accuses, “because you’re hoping that he’s not interested in Camilla.”

“I think _you’re_ hoping that he’s not interested in Camilla,” Holtzy retorts.

“Well, I suppose you’re not wrong about _everything_ ,” Bitty mutters.

Holtzy crows in victory, and he’s still smiling when he says, “Bits, can’t you give it a chance? Weren’t you just saying before we left Florida that you’re lonely and wish you could make a connection with someone? And then fate brought us here.”

“Sure,” Bitty puts in. “ _Fate_. That’s what gave our train tickets to the Haynes sisters.”

“I’m just staying, it sure seems like you’re connecting.”

Bitty huffs out a sigh and releases his arms to twist his hands in his lap. “Listen, I — I want to believe what you’re saying, Holtzy. I really do. And I wish it were as easy as just giving it a chance. But how would I even… it’s not as easy for me as it is for you. You see a gal you like, and you can just walk right up and say so. Or make it obvious. It’s not that easy for me, and if I’m wrong?” Bitty pauses. He expects Holtzy to jump in and say something, but he stays quiet. “It’s just not that easy for me.”

“I’m sorry, Bitty.” Holtzy’s voice is earnest, and so are his eyes when he looks over. “I only want you to be happy.”

“I know,” Bitty says. He lets his mouth turn up in a watery smile. “For what it’s worth, I wish you were right.”

Holtzy returns the smile. “For what it’s worth, I think I still am.”

“Yes, well,” Bitty replies briskly, scooting down in his bed and pulling the covers up, “I guess that’ll have to be enough.”

*

Bitty has a hard time dropping off after the conversation, and he’s still fussed about it when he wakes up the next morning. He’s acting strange enough that people start to notice — members of the cast and crew, Caitlin, and eventually, Jack. When he asks Bitty if everything’s all right, Bitty gives him a bright smile, lies, and skitters off with some excuse about checking on the costumes.

When everything is wrapped up for the day, it hardly seems worth it to try and sleep. Bitty knows that he won’t begetting any shuteye any time soon, so he parts from Holtzy to take a walk around the grounds. It’s profoundly unhelpful, just giving his mind the time and space to wander, and it only gets worse when he trudges around the back of the lodge and sees the spot that he encountered Jack on that first night in Vermont. Bitty stands there for a few minutes, indulging himself in the memory of Jack’s handsome face touched with silvery moonlight, the surprising gentleness in his voice, the way he’d offered Bitty his jacket.

With a groan, Bitty shakes himself and turns his face to the sky. There are a few thin, hazy clouds this time, but nothing that will produce any flakes. It’s a gorgeous view, but it only doubles Bitty’s frustration: if nothing else, he wants to be able to draw people to the Inn for Jack’s sake, and that would be easier with snow.

“None of this is helping,” Bitty mutters. He needs a distraction, so he turns and circles the lodge again, this time to enter it. The room feels cavernous without its usual bustle of activity, and Bitty finds himself treading lightly as he makes his way to the piano. He sits at the bench and starts picking out chords to try and clear his mind. He’s no virtuoso, but he can play well enough to accompany himself when he’s practicing or writing. He transitions into a song, playing a few bars of “Silent Night” before he’s startled by the sound of footsteps. He strikes a discordant note as he jumps and gasps — only to see the source of his restless mood approaching in the form of Jack Zimmermann. “Oh my! You certainly gave me a fright.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, his voice low and honestly contrite. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, no — _I_ didn’t mean to disturb _you_ ,” Bitty rushes to apologize. “Are you trying to work? I can go back to my cabin —”

Jack shakes his head, coming to stand beside the piano. “It’s all right. I was just —” he sighs and scrubs a hand briefly over his face “— just going over the books, and came to the kitchen to get a snack. I was already taking a break, and I don’t mind taking a longer one.”

Bitty frowns. “Jack, you know, if there’s anything else we can do to help… with bills, or, or —”

“ _No_ ,” Jack interjects sharply. He softens his tone when he continues. “I couldn’t ask you for that, or accept it. You’re doing more than enough already.”

“Are you sure?” Bitty insists.

Jack smiles, the small sad one that only turns up one corner of his mouth, but his eyes are warm. “Bittle, I can’t believe everything you’re doing. Bringing a whole Broadway show here? For someone you barely knew? Who — maybe, just maybe — was a little tough on you in the past? It’s unbelievable. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Well,” Bitty says, flustered, “it’s the least I can do for an old friend from the army.”

“Friend?” Jack asks skeptically.

Bitty flushes and averts his eyes. “Maybe we weren’t friends then, but we are now, aren’t we?”

“I hope so,” Jack replies, and it makes Bitty’s heart both soar and crash. “And there’s no maybe about it. You wouldn’t have called me your friend back then.”

Daring to smirk and look back up at Jack, Bitty says, “Probably not.”

“I’m sorry for that.” Jack leans against the piano and casts his gaze down.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Bitty assures him. “And I don’t want to see that long face, either.”

“Maybe a song would make me feel better,” he suggests.

“A song?” Bitty repeats blankly.

Jack’s reply is to nod at the piano and raise his eyebrows.

“Oh!” Bitty says in surprise. He drops his gaze to the keys. “I’m not actually very good at this.”

“I’ve been listening to you sing all week, Bittle. You’re great.”

The two simple words make Bitty puff up with pride. “Thank you. I meant the piano, though.”

“You sounded just fine when I came in.”

Bitty brings his hands back to the keys. He’s performed for thousands, but he’s not sure that ever churned up the butterflies in his stomach quite this hard. “Well, all right. How would you like to hear a lullabye we’re writing? I don’t know if we’re going to be able to work it into the show, but we might put it on a record.”

“I’d like that.”

“Then come have a seat,” Bitty instructs, and before he can think better of it, he scoots to one side of the piano bench and pats the other.

Jack blinks at him. “You want me to sit… there?”

A chill of dread traces its way down Bitty’s spine at the possibility that he’s overstepping his bounds. “I want you to sit somewhere,” he says, striving to keep his tone light. “I can’t play with you looming over me like that.”

Jack straightens up. After a few seconds of obvious deliberation, he slides in next to Bitty on the bench, and Bitty’s heart gallops. Bitty can feel his body heat, and he’s afraid he might be shaking too hard to play. He draws in a deep breath, lets it out, and begins.

_When I’m worried and I can’t sleep_  
_I count my blessings instead of sheep_  
_And I fall asleep counting my blessings_  
_When my bankroll is getting small_  
_I think of when I had none at all_  
_And I fall asleep counting my blessings_

The song is really better suited for Holtzy’s deep voice, but Bitty does his best with it and in the end, he thinks his rendition is passable. Still, when he lets his voice fade away and gentles his fingers on the keys to finish it, he can’t bring himself to check Jack’s reaction. Instead, he leaves his hands where they are, still, just the way the rest of him is, except for his still-pounding heart.

Jack isn’t moving either, and the moment hangs, suspended between them and ringing in Bitty’s ears. Finally, he has to do something — _has to_ — so he brings his hands to his lap and glances over.

The look in Jack’s eyes is almost too much to bear. It’s like the song has stripped something away, some barrier between what Jack’s feeling and what he allows himself to express, and Bitty’s breath hitches in his throat —

And then Jack kisses him.

It’s no peck; Jack presses in hard and firm, a little off-kilter, and it cricks Bitty’s neck after he’s already twisted sideways. He gasps, muffled, and Jack yanks himself away, scrambling backwards until he nearly tumbles off the bench and ends up crouching beside it. “I’m sorry!” he exclaims, his voice strained.

On instinct, Bitty reaches out to steady him, but he drops his hand before he makes contact. “Don’t be,” he says desperately.

Jack stares at him.

“Please, _please_ don’t be sorry. Not — not for that,” Bitty begs him. He’s wanted this so badly, had it so briefly — he thinks he’ll die if Jack regrets it now.

Looking at Jack’s face, it doesn’t look like regret is exactly what he’s feeling. His eyes are wide with panic, but the expression in them is changing, until he’s looking at Bitty with something more like disbelief. And hunger.

“Why don’t you come back over here?” Bitty whispers.

Jack moves slowly to reclaim his spot beside Bitty on the piano bench. He lets out a shaky breath as he touches one side of Bitty’s face, and Bitty secures him there with a hand on Jack’s wrist. Bitty’s not sure how reassuring the gesture actually is when he’s shaking from head to toe himself, but it’s enough to make Jack lean in, and Bitty leans in too, and they’re finding each other, slowly with lips, gently with tongues. When they finally sink together, into a deeper kiss, into each other as Jack’s arms go around Bitty, it feels so good and so right that Bitty could cry.

It’s been so long, _so long_ , since Bitty has allowed himself to do this, to be close to someone, and it’s been longer still since he’s put his emotions on the line. He’s here though, and it’s happening: as much as his body is sizzling with the insistent attention of Jack’s lips, the way Jack is holding him and the tender grasp of his hands is warming Bitty all the way to the center of his chest, right where his heart is beating fast.

Bitty worries, distantly, that his own touch is clumsy and out of practice. He can do little more than clutch inelegantly at Jack’s biceps, then the back of his neck, hanging on for dear life as the shock and the joy and the _pleasure_ of it all threatens to sweep him away.

After a time — minutes or days, Bitty has no idea — Jack eases back to soft, lingering kisses, then breaks away entirely, but he stays hovering near. Bitty, with his eyes still closed, lets out a quiet, “Oh.”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes, the first time he’s said it that Bitty can recall. His heart flutters anew as Jack tips forward to press their foreheads together.

Bitty’s breathing hard. His lips feel like rubber and his brain feels like mush, but somehow it still manages to remember his usual urge to fill silences. “So,” he starts, then pauses to clear his throat. “You liked the song?”

Jack leans back and lets out a startled laugh, and Bitty opens his eyes to find that again, the look in Jack’s is almost unbearable, but for a different reason this time. His gaze is soaked with warmth and fondness, and there’s no way that’s all for Bitty. “The song was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Bitty whispers, and Jack kisses him again.


	5. Chapter 5

Bitty wakes up the next morning half in love and more determined to help Jack than ever. There’s a new idea taking shape in his mind, one that would make their Christmas Eve debut even more special for Jack. He wants to talk to Holtzy about it — he just needs to stop smiling first.

When he had finally returned from the lodge the night before, it had been late enough that Holtzy was asleep. It had taken Bitty some time to get there himself, reeling and so full of effervescent joy. As a result, he’d slept long enough that Holtzy was already gone when he awoke. It was all for the best, because it had given Bitty the opportunity to sigh into his pillow like the dignified adult that he is.

There’s a shadow of apprehension in the back of his mind, that maybe whatever madness had possessed Jack in the dark of night would disappear in the daylight, that he’d see Bitty and regret everything, that he’s regretting it already. The thought keeps Bitty in bed for a few extra minutes, wracked with doubt, but his grumbling stomach won’t let him stay there.

After a quick toilette, Bitty approaches the lodge, feeling such a heady mix of trepidation and excitement that he’s almost sick with it. He doesn’t see Jack when he steps in, but as he looks over the breakfast spread, a tall figure sidles up right next to him. “Morning, Bittle.”

Bitty’s glad he’s facing away from the room, because he can feel his whole face go pink in an instant. He peeks at Jack to see Jack peeking right back at him, the corner of his mouth tilted up. “Good morning, Jack.”

“Sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you,” Bitty says. He grabs a plate and starts piling it with food. “I had some very sweet dreams.”

In the edge of his vision, he sees Jack duck his head and chuckle. “I think I had those too.”

Bitty smiles down at his plate, warm all over. “Well, good.”

“Maybe you can tell me about yours later, eh?” Jack suggests, and Bitty can feel the weight of his eyes.

He looks up to meet them. “I’d like that.”

Jack’s face is soft and happy, and he wears it very well. “Good. I’ll see you later then.” He nudges Bitty’s arm and walks away, and Bitty practically floats as he finds Holtzy sitting at a table, finishing up his own plate and going over some notes.

“There he is,” Holtzy says, barely looking up. “Sleeping Beauty himself.”

“Oh, hush,” Bitty scolds. He slides into a seat and bites dreamily into a triangle of toast, watching as Jack crosses the room and exits it, with one last lingering glance in Bitty’s direction.

When he brings his attention back to Holtzy, Bitty finds that he’s being stared at. “What’s going on with you?” Holtzy asks suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Bitty says. He tucks into his food in earnest so that he can turn his face down.

“And that’s a lie. Something is definitely up.”

“Adam —” Bitty snaps.

“Whoa.”

“— just leave it alone for now. I have an idea I want to run past you for the show.”

Holtzy looks torn, but eventually sighs and nods. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Bitty pokes his fork into his eggs, but he doesn’t lift it to his mouth. “What if we invite the boys from the 151st?”

He can see that he’s caught Holtzy completely off guard, and Holtzy takes a moment to reply. “How exactly would we do that?”

“Well, we might not be able to get all of them,” Bitty concedes, “but I was thinking that if we put the call out on the John Johnson Show, there just might be enough of the fellas in New England that can get here in time to put on a decent reunion.”

Holtzy’s still looking at him with suspicion. “I’d love to see them again, but other than that — what’s the incentive?”

Bitty feels his face heat yet again, and he returns to shifting the food around on his plate. “I get the impression that Jack’s been really lonely, and he’s mentioned more than once how much he misses the army days. I thought it would be nice for him, for the holidays. Plus, maybe some of the guys would have such a good time that they’d want to come back again, so it would be another way to drum up some business for the Inn.”

He expects teasing, sudden and relentless. It doesn’t come, and when Bitty dares to glance up again, it’s to find Holtzy regarding him with what looks like dawning comprehension. “Okay,” he says. “That’s a really nice idea, Bits.”

“Thanks,” Bitty replies. The scrutiny makes him uneasy, and he jams a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Do you think Johnson will let us come on?” he asks, after he’s swallowed them down.

“There’s only one way to find out. We’ll call him after you’re done eating.”

*

It’s Holtzy who makes the call, and he has no problem securing Johnson’s enthusiastic agreement to, as he puts it, “advance the plot.” Bitty crowds close to the receiver, catching snatches of conversation from both sides.

“What is he saying?” Bitty asks as Holtzy shifts it momentarily out of earshot. “Something about a suggestion?”

“He wants to bring a camera crew up on Christmas Eve,” Holtzy hisses. “Show people around the Inn, introduce Sarge. What, Johnson? Yes, I know it would be great publicity for the show.”

Bitty is momentarily distracted by a strange, soft-sharp noise, but when he glances over his shoulder, there’s nothing to be seen. He turns back to Holtzy, frowning. “We are _not_ doing that. We’re not doing this for publicity, and we’re not going to paint Jack as some down-on-his-luck charity case.”

“ _Relax_ , Bits. Obviously I feel the same way. Did you hear that, Johnson?” Holtzy is quiet for a moment, then adds, “He says he had a feeling that would be our answer.”

“Good,” Bitty says, satisfied. He backs off as Holtzy makes arrangements to put in an appearance on the show as soon as that evening, retreating to look around the corner and down the hall where he’d thought the sound originated, but he still turns up nothing.

*

The morning’s rehearsals go well, and Bitty’s feeling pretty good about how the show is coming together — when it all falls apart.

Shortly after the cast breaks for lunch, Camilla comes dashing in from her cabin, a handkerchief in her hand and tears on her cheeks. Bitty starts in shock — he’s never seen her anything other than poised and confident — and hurries over, Holtzy hot on his heels. “Cam! What’s wrong?”

“It’s Cait!” she exclaims. “She’s gone!”

“Gone?” Bitty repeats, dumbfounded. He hadn’t seen Caitlin around the lodge that morning, but she isn’t a part of the number they’d been running.

“She left this,” Caitlin says, and Bitty sees that she’s holding a piece of paper as well. He extracts it gently from her grip and smooths it. _Dear Cam,_ it reads, _I’m more convinced than ever that I’m just not cut out for show business. I hate to break up the act, but we both knew it would happen sooner or later. I’ll miss you dearly, but it’s for the best. If you need to reach me, I plan on staying with my Aunt Jane in New York. Love, Cait._

“Well, what on earth?” Bitty says after reading it. Holtzy clamors for the letter, and he passes it over. “Why would she think she’s not cut out for show business?”

“I have no idea,” Cam replies with a sniffle.

“She seemed pretty upset about being part of a scheme designed to take advantage of a kind man to generate a little free publicity for your show,” a sharp voice cuts in, and Bitty turns in shock to see Larissa standing nearby with her arms crossed over her chest.

Cam stares at her in confusion. “What scheme is this?”

“Ask your friends,” Larissa says, fixing Bitty and Holtzy with a steely glare.

Hotlzy tosses his hands up in protest when Camilla rounds on him. “I have no idea what she’s talking about!”

“And neither do I,” Bitty adds. “Larissa, please, what’s this all about?”

“I _heard_ you,” she hisses, and she looks less angry and closer to crying. “This morning, on the phone, talking to John Johnson. He’s going to broadcast the show from the Inn to give you boys more exposure to your show, and you’re going to make Jack look foolish while you do it.” She recovers herself visibly, resolve returning all at once. “But there’s no way I’m letting that happen. I’m asking you to leave first. And if you don’t, I’ll — I’ll get the authorities involved. Or I’ll go to Jack.”

Bitty gapes at her, remembering suddenly the noise from the hall — a gasp, he thinks now, followed by scuffled footsteps. “Larissa, no! You didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

“What else is there?” she challenges him. “You alerted the local media too?”

“ _No_ ,” Bitty insists. “Please, you didn’t hear everything! We turned down Johnson’s offer. We don’t want the publicity, we just want to put in appearance on the show to invite our old army division to the show on Christmas Eve as a surprise for Jack. I promise that’s all.”

Larissa is still looking at him suspiciously, but her expression is softening.

“Wait a second,” Camilla interjects. “So how did you overhearing this conversation lead to Caitlin leaving for New York?”

“Oh,” Larissa says, and she grimaces. “I ran into her right after I heard that phone call. I was really upset, and she asked me what was wrong. And… I told her.”

Camilla fixes her with a glare that is, frankly, frightening. She looks like she’s about to unleash a tirade, but before she can even get started, Larissa rushes to speak again. “I’m sorry, okay? I really am. But you have to understand, Jack’s been so good to me, and to Bernice. I don’t know where we’d be without him, and I won’t stand for anyone trying to use him. Or hurt him.”

“We would never!” Bitty exclaims, feeling sick at the very thought, and Holtzy shoots him a look that clearly says _settle down or shut your trap_.

“Well, I know that _now_ ,” Larissa says. She turns back to Camilla. “Look, I _am_ sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Camilla is clearly still disgruntled, but she appears to be mollified enough not to explode. “It’s — it’s okay. I’m not sure if there’s anything you can do, but _I’m_ going to New York.”

“You _are_?” Holtzy asks.

“I know you’re already headed there, and I’m tagging along. Cait is my oldest, dearest, best friend,” Camilla continues, looking a bit teary again, “and I’m going to get her to come back. Or if that doesn’t work, I’ll stay there with her.”

Bitty’s heart warms to see the outpouring of her affection. It’s been clear to him that Camilla and Caitlin are close, but he has worried that Camilla is more focused on her career than on their friendship. “I’m sure I speak for both of us when I say you’re more than welcome to tag along,” he says, and Camilla gives him a watery smile.

It’s Holtzy who protests unexpectedly. “Bits, don’t you think you’d better stay here and make sure everything keeps ticking over with the show?”

Bitty blinks at him. “What? You don’t want me to come with?”

“I really think someone should stay behind,” Holtzy says, enunciating each word clearly and staring at Bitty like he’s trying to drill something into Bitty’s head.

When it finally does penetrate, it hits Bitty like a ton of bricks. Holtzy is offering him the chance to stay behind with Jack, for them to have time alone together. “Oh!” he exclaims as his face heats. “Oh. Of course. Sure, I can do that.”

“Good,” Holtzy says. “Cam, pack a bag and I’ll call the station.”


	6. Chapter 6

Plans fall into place quickly, and just before Holtzy and Camilla leave to catch their train, he pulls Bitty aside. “Bits, I don’t give a shit if you rehearse the show while we’re gone or not, but you do have to do one thing.”

Bitty squints at him. “What’s that?”

“Make sure that Jack doesn’t watch the John Johnson Show tonight. We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Right,” Bitty agrees with a nod. His shoulders slump in relief; he’d been expecting so much worse. “I can do that.”

“How you choose to distract him,” Holtzy goes on, “is completely up to you.”

And there it is. For what feels like the hundredth time that day, Bitty flushes hot. “Holtz —”

“Hey! I’m just saying, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He winks.

Bitty sighs and teases back, entering into the spirit of things. “Well, that doesn’t leave me with many options.”

“Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t do half the things I would do with a man.”

Holtzy responds with a hearty guffaw. “Oh, wouldn’t I?”

Bitty gapes at him. “ _What_?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bits. Good luck.”

As he has many times throughout their years of friendship, Bitty just shakes his head. “Same to you. I hope this works.” He sobers. “I really think it would mean so much to Jack.”

Holtzy lets out a low whistle. “You’re real gone on him, aren’t you?”

“Oh, well,” Bitty says, doing an awkward little shuffle, fidgeting on his feet. “I just don’t like to see people sad. You know me.”

“I do,” Holtzy agrees, “and I know you’re real gone.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “And I know you’re going to miss your train if you don’t get going soon.”

Holtzy checks the time and agrees, setting them strolling toward the door. “Cam!” he calls over to her. “Ready to go?”

She turns from where she’s chatting with Jack and Larissa. “Definitely.”

The group parts on the porch, with Holtzy and Camilla climbing into a car while Jack, Bitty, and Larissa watch and wave. As the cab pulls away, Larissa gives Jack and Bitty a shrewd look. “I’m going to find Bernice. Maybe we’ll take a walk into town, look at the lights. Other than that, we’ll be in our rooms.”

Bitty can _feel_ how crimson his face is. _Again_. “I was going to offer to make a nice dinner for all of us. You don’t have to —”

“I know we don’t have to. We want to,” Larissa says. She offers him a knowing smile. “You two have a good night.”

“You too,” Jack replies, and Bitty can’t even _look_ at her.

And then he and Jack are alone together.

“So,” Jack says, “what’s this about dinner?”

Bitty lifts his eyes again. Jack, he can look at, even if he feels flustered and too-warm under the weight of Jack’s gaze. He could look at Jack all day and not get his fill. “I was thinking I might whip something up for us. It’s a travesty that I’ve been here as long as I have and not taken advantage of that big, beautiful kitchen.”

Jack looks amused. “We have a cook, you know.”

“Of course. But Sergeant Zimmermann, you haven’t lived until you’ve sampled my cooking. What do you say?”

“Well, if I haven’t lived.”

As they walk through the door, Jack ghosts a touch over his lower back, and Bitty’s whole body is awake.

Cooking dinner turns out to be almost as fun as eating it. The Inn’s kitchen has a great deal of food, but none of it too exotic. Bitty isn’t bothered; he can still make the best tasting chicken and potatoes and vegetables that Jack’s ever eaten, and of course, a pie. With no crowd for lunch or dinner, Jack regretfully sends the cook home. It’s dispiriting for a moment, but it does allow Jack to stand close, watching and asking questions. As much as Bitty enjoys Jack’s proximity — and he really, really enjoys it — Jack is actually hovering so close as to make things more difficult, so Bitty puts him to work. Then he gets to tease Jack about his lack of experience doing simple tasks like peeling apples and potatoes, and Jack retaliates by nudging him and stealing bites of food.

They can’t act exactly how they want — even though they’re alone, someone could walk in — but it’s tantalizing and entertaining. Jack even manages to steal a few quick kisses along the way, when he leans across Bitty to reach for a specific kitchen tool, when Bitty straightens and turns from putting a dish in the oven.

After everything is ready and the pie is cooling, they tuck themselves into a tiny table in the corner of the kitchen instead of going out to the main dining room. The air is warm and laden with the delicious aromas of cooking, and they’re forced to sit close, their legs bumping together under the table. The conversation flows easily once it’s started, and Bitty continues to learn how surprisingly easy Jack is to talk to, especially once he opens up. They chat about their childhoods — Jack’s split between Canada and the United States, and Bitty’s in a sun-bleached small town in Georgia. Bitty shares anecdotes about his meteoric rise to the Broadway stage, and Jack fills Bitty in about his life after returning from the war. Since he’d no longer been able to play hockey, he’d assisted his father in coaching a team, which they’d both thrown themselves into with an almost frantic passion after his mother’s death.

And through it all, there are brushes of fingers while exchanging the pepper shaker, fleeting touches to arms and wrists, and the persistent knocking of their knees under the table. It drives Bitty to a state of utmost distraction, and it’s a significant part of the reason why, when Jack asks him what he’d like to do when they’re done eating — maybe take a walk? — Bitty answers, “I… I want to be alone with you.”

Jack regards him calmly, but his eyebrows do tick up. “I’d like that too.”

“It doesn’t have to be — anything,” Bitty says quickly. “I just want to be able to… without worrying about…”

“Bitty.” Jack trips his fingertips lightly over the exposed skin at Bitty’s wrist again. “I’d like that too,” he repeats.

The time they spend cleaning up the kitchen seems interminable.

*

Bitty isn’t sure what he expected from Jack’s living quarters, and he’s not surprised to find it devoid of much decoration. It’s removed from the other rooms in the main building, but it’s looks much the same, with clean cream walls and a plaid cover on the bed. There’s a framed picture of Jack's parents on the dresser, a few children’s drawings tacked up on the back of the door (”Bernice drew those when she was younger,” Jack explains), and a few pairs of boots scattered around.

“It’s very nice,” Bitty says after turning a jittery circle.

“Thank you,” Jack replies.

They look at each other for a moment.

With no other preamble, Jack steps close and sweeps Bitty up into a kiss, one that Bitty responds to eagerly, and it goes on and on until his head is swimming. Only then does Jack pull away just far enough to murmur, “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

“Not as much as me,” Bitty groans back. He kisses Jack’s mouth again, touches the strong angles of his face, his thick dark hair.

“Well, I can do it all night,” Jack says, removing his lips from Bitty’s to press them near his ear, then breathe into it, “If you want.”

Bitty’s breath shudders the whole way out. He doesn’t know how much Jack is offering — just what they’ve been doing or more — but he doesn’t think he’ll turn down any of it. “That sounds just like heaven,” he replies, and Jack chases the words right out of his mouth.

For a time, that’s all it is. They stay right there, pressed up together, one of Jack’s arms holding Bitty around his waist and the other cupping his skull, kissing and kissing until Bitty feels like every inch of his mouth has been explored and claimed. Jack, he thinks hazily, is thorough. And _oh_ , Bitty has missed this — has _forgotten_ how much he misses it. It’s almost enough to distract him from how downright uncomfortable it’s getting to have his neck tilted at such an angle for all these endless minutes.

“Jack,” he whispers, dislodging Jack’s mouth. Jack just brings his attention to Bitty’s jawline instead. The warm, damp trail of kisses he leaves there feels _good_ , but it only servers to wrench Bitty’s neck farther back. “Could we maybe… make ourselves more comfortable?”

“My knee would like that,” Jack admits, his voice low and rumbling. He straightens and looks down into Bitty’s face; Bitty lets his eyes dart deliberately over to Jack’s bed and back. He feels like he’s on fire, and the intensity in Jack’s eyes is only stoking it. “We can lie down.,” Jack adds. “If you want to.”

Bitty smiles. “Let’s at least try it and see what happens.”

“Okay,” Jack breathes.

He sounds a little overwhelmed, but he comes along easily when Bitty backs away from him toward the bed, finding Jack’s hands to beckon him along. Bitty perches on the edge of the mattress, and when Jack joins him, he gazes into Bitty’s eyes for a moment before capturing his lips again.

It’s grown cold outside, too cold for Bitty’s Southern blood, but he feels warm here with Jack, trading lingering kisses while they sit — then recline — on Jack’s bed. The thick blankets welcome Bitty down, inviting him to sink into the softness, into the scent of Jack all around him, into the feel of Jack so close to him, but somehow still not close enough. Bitty angles over onto his back, tugging Jack with him until he’s half on top of Bitty’s body, hovering over him and kissing him harder, deeper. He’s big, and solid, and heavy, and Bitty hears a whine emit from his own throat.

Jack pulls away from him, the separation of their lips making a noise that’s truly obscene. “Is this — are you okay?”

“Very okay,” Bitty says. Jack’s mouth descends towards him again, but before he makes contact, Bitty blurts, “But Jack, you should know — this isn’t some kind of fling, not for me. And I hope it isn’t for you either, because getting to know you is just about the best thing that’s happened in years, even better than, well, everything. If it’s not the same for you, though —”

“Bitty,” Jack interrupts him. “It’s the same for me.”

The relief is so strong that Bitty sags against the mattress. “Oh, good.”

Jack’s smile flashes, sweet and wonderful, before they come together again.

Bitty thinks that they might spend a year kissing and touching each other. At first, it’s with their clothes on but their shoes kicked off, the crush of their lips and the clutch of their arms growing more urgent with each passing moment. Bitty is the first to push it further, sneaking his hands under Jack’s sweater, and it’s the domino that topples all the others. At the slide of skin against skin, Jack shudders. He looks at Bitty with fire in his eyes, and it’s all downhill from there.

They undress each other with eager, reverent hands, pressing together again after they’re bared to one another, and Bitty finds himself shivering.

“Are you cold?” Jack whispers, from somewhere near his collarbone.

“I don’t know,” Bitty says. His lifts his head from where it’s tossed back against the pillows and runs one hand through Jack’s hair. “Overwhelmed, maybe.”

“Do you want to get under the covers?”

The idea feels safe and cozy. “Okay.”

They maneuver their way in, and Bitty discovers that his instinct was right — he feels all wrapped up, in Jack’s bed, in his blankets, in _him_. He stretches out on his back, encourages Jack to cover every inch of his body. It’s _perfect_ , or at least it is until Jack says sheepishly, “I don’t think this is the best for my knee.”

“Oh!” Bitty gasps. “How should I —?”

“Maybe —” Jack begins shifting, flipping their positions and draping Bitty over himself, arranging his body with a strength that makes Bitty’s stomach fizz “— like this. I’m sorry, it’s just been aching today.”

“Yes,” Bitty drawls, “you should apologize, because this is _terrible_.” He shifts a bit and sucks in a sharp breath when he feels the evidence of his arousal line up against Jack’s.

“Terrible,” Jack echoes absently. He weaves a hand into Bitty’s hair and drags him down again.

They rock against each other, tucked close and tucked away, as steady as an ocean tide, Jack arching up with his good leg, and Bitty meeting him every time. It crests slowly, then faster, and at the last second Jack reaches down between their bodies and gets them both in hand. Bitty finds his release quickly then, sending muffled groans into Jack’s neck. Jack pants into the heated air and follows.

For a long, suspended moment, they breathe together, Jack draped against the mattress and Bitty draped over Jack, until Jack cranes around to kiss Bitty’s temple. “Wait here?”

“No,” Bitty says, trying to somehow weight Jack down harder.

“We should clean up.”

Grumbling, Bitty rolls away, but grabs Jack before he can do the same. He manages to awkwardly wipe up the worst of the mess with the sheet, then kick it to the corner of the bed under the blankets. Then, he pulls Jack close again.

“That’s not very sanitary,” Jack comments.

“I don’t care.”

“Okay.”

Bitty pillows his head against Jack’s chest. His thoughts begin to spiral back to himself, and he says, quietly, looking at the wall, “I hope you know I meant what I said. This means something to me, and I want to — well, I don’t know what exactly, but I don’t want this to end when we have to go back to the city.”

“I meant it too,” Jack replies, and his voice, still graveled, sends tingles down Bitty’s spine.

“It’s all right if you don’t,” Bitty adds, feeling suddenly nervous despite Jack’s reassurance.

Jack starts sweeping a hand up and down Bitty’s bare back. He’s quiet for a moment before he speaks. “I haven’t really shared everything with you, Bittle. The years since the war… they’ve been hard. You know about my mother. I had — an affair, I guess you could call it, with a player on my father’s team, and I don’t think it was a good idea for either one of us. I had pain pills for my knee, and I took too many of them, all the time. I drank too much. It hurt a lot to be around a hockey team, but not be able to play, and I didn’t deal with it very well. I even landed myself in the hospital. Then my father passed away, and now I’m struggling to keep the Inn afloat.”

He pauses, and Bitty squeezes him tighter. Jack allows it for a moment, then jostles Bitty around so that he can look into Bitty’s eyes.

“You,” he says seriously, “have made my life better in every possible way. Believe me when I say that I don’t want this to end.”

Bitty’s eyes are wet, and he covers it by leaning in to kiss Jack, trying to pour every ounce of comfort and care he has into it. “I believe you,” he mumbles against Jack’s lips.

“Good. Then stay here with me tonight?”

“It would be my pleasure, sweetheart,” Bitty says. He burrows close to Jack again as Jack draws the covers up around them.


	7. Chapter 7

Bitty is awoken the next morning by a rough, sharp _swish_ , and he looks around blearily to see that someone has shoved a piece of paper under the door. He groans and flops back down, pressing into the warmth of Jack’s body that he can feel all along his back. There’s an answering chuckle, and Jack kisses his shoulder. “Good morning.”

“You sound... awake,” Bitty grumbles.

“Just for a little while. No more than an hour.”

“An _hour_? Gosh, and I’m just lying here like a lump.”

Jack is still nuzzling him, and Bitty feels more and more alert by the moment. “It’s okay. I was comfortable.”

Bitty stretches, tilting his head down into the pillow to present the line of his neck to Jack. Jack takes advantage of it. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too.”

So Bitty allows himself to luxuriate in it for a while. The trail of Jack’s mouth across his neck and shoulders and upper back is lazy and imprecise. He splays one big hand over Bitty’s belly, bringing their bodies more firmly together. Bitty draws sharp breath when he feels the evidence of Jack’s intent on his backside, the gentle rut of Jack’s hips, and then Jack’s hand is sliding down.

It’s not like the night before — it’s languid and spontaneous and effortless, a release as easy as letting out a breath, Bitty first and Jack second. Oh yes, Bitty could get used to this.

Jack recovers himself first, again. “We really need to clean up this time.”

Bitty’s sticky now from his lower back to his upper thighs and couldn’t agree more. “And look at whatever that is,” he adds, motioning to the paper on the floor.

They discover, a few minutes and kisses later, that it’s a telegram reading: _Success! Back on 1 PM train. RC &C._ There’s also a handwritten note scrawled on the back: _I put 2 plates in the kitchen in case you miss breakfast. L._

It’s all Bitty can do to contain his grin. His plan is coming together, and if Jack thinks he’s happy now, there’s only more to come.

*

Between the time when Holtzy, Cam, and Cait return from New York and the show a day later, Bitty doesn’t get to spend much alone time with Jack. Rehearsals kick into overdrive, and it’s hard to duck all of their ever-present friends. Bitty knows that he could spend another night in Jack’s room and only have to pay the price of merciless teasing from Holtzy, but when he makes a pit stop back in his own cabin, he accidentally falls asleep until morning, exhausted from the final push toward the Christmas Eve debut.

It’s probably for the best, Bitty decides, trying to put a positive spin on things. At least this way, he can’t give away anything about the surprise that’s in store. It also reduces the risk that Jack is going to notice how on edge he is about the whole thing, because there’s still a chance that no one will show up.

Bitty’s fears prove unfounded. As the audience starts to arrive, Bitty sees more and more familiar faces, and he enjoys many happy reunions, his relief increasing at every one. At the same time, Larissa is handling the last layer of subterfuge: she’s keeping Jack busy and away from the lodge, and she’s sent both of his suits to the cleaners so he’ll be forced to turn up in his uniform.

Finally, there’s nothing left for Bitty to do but get ready himself, which he does, shaking with nerves the entire time. With two minutes to go, he takes his place on the stage beside Holtzy, who grins at him. “This is going to be so fucking great, Bits.”

They wait.

The whole room waits, filled with the silence of a hundred people holding their breath. When the door unlatches, Bitty can hear it from all the way across the lodge.

Jack steps in, with Bernice on one arm, and Bitty barely sees him before Holtzy barks out, _“Attention!_ ” and the members of the 151st division spring from their seats along the aisle down the center of the room, lining it.

Bitty, already standing at attention, watches as Jack takes it all in. He’s clearly startled at first, then recognition dawns, and even from a distance, Bitty can see the wash of emotions over his face. Bernice urges him forward, and he starts up the line. He’s walking with his cane, Bitty notices, but his stride is still firm and commanding.

As he nears the front of the room, Jack glances up and his gaze finds Bitty’s, _finally_. His face makes Bitty’s heart ache: Jack’s expression is full of wonder and affection as he stares Bitty down, walking toward the table in front of the stage that Bitty has set with a cake, just for him. His eyes burn into Bitty’s, and Bitty feels the look as surely as he would an embrace.

When he reaches the table, Jack breaks eye contact only to look around at the men in their uniforms, his face working. “At ease, soldiers,” he calls, and the room bursts into raucous applause.

It’s the cue for Bitty and Holtzy to start up a rousing chorus of the song they’d first performed on a battlefield exactly ten years prior, the one that might not have been for Jack originally, but the one that Bitty had reminded the men from the 151st about tonight:

_We’ll follow the old man_  
_Wherever he wants to go_  
_As long as he wants to go_  
_Opposite to the foe_

_We’ll stay with the old man_  
_Wherever he wants to stay_  
_Long as he stays away from the battle’s fray_

_Because we love him! We love him!_  
_Especially when he keeps us on the ball_  
_And we’ll tell the kiddies we answered duty’s call_  
_With the grandest son of a soldier of them all_

Bitty watches Jack the entire time, watches Jack laughing even though he still looks like he could cry. Even as he stares, Bitty knows he should stop — he’s going to give himself away — but Jack can barely take his eyes away from the stage either. Oh well, Bitty will get it under control for the show.

It goes off without a hitch. The cast hits every mark, remembers every line, and the audience responds with laughter and applause, their faces shining up at Bitty when he looks out at them, none brighter than Jack’s. The room is full — of people, of music, of cheer. Bitty’s heart is practically glowing in his chest, and just when he thinks nothing can make the night better, he overhears two stagehands chattering during an intermission. One word stands out in particular, and Bitty turns toward them with a gasp. “Do you mean it?”

One of them grins. “Go and see for yourself.”

Bitty turns tail and heads for the nearest exit, with Holtzy hot on his heels, calling, “What? What did they say?”

Tossing open a door, Bitty exclaims, “Snow!”

He’s never been happier to see the stuff. There’s already an inch or two blanketing the ground, and it’s coming down thick and fast, in fat white blossoms. Bitty turns back to Holtzy, beaming. “I have an idea for the finale.”

*

The last number of the show is something new, specially designed for the season. It’s a simple number, but beautifully poignant, with Bitty, Holtzy, Camilla, and Caitlin all in elaborate costumes reminiscent of young Santa and Mrs. Clauses. The stage is adorned with a glittering tree and other festive holiday trappings, a perfect backdrop for their song:

_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas_  
_Just like the ones I used to know_  
_Where the treetops glisten_  
_And children listen to hear_  
_Sleigh bells in the snow, the snow_

Bitty can’t resist locking eyes with Jack again as he sings, and Jack’s shine with fondness. Bitty smiles, and revels in it, and is sure that he’s mirroring it right back.

_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas_  
_With every Christmas card I write_  
_May your days be merry and bright_  
_And may all your Christmases be white_

As Bitty and his friends finish the final verse, they step aside. The stage has been constructed in front of the lodge’s huge double doors, which open in time, as if by magic, revealing the winter wonderland beyond. The audience gasps and cheers, and Bitty watches Jack’s smile grow even wider.

Bitty couldn’t imagine a day more merry or bright.

_*_

As the audience devolves into a cacophony of joyous reunions and chattering voices, Bitty hangs to one side, smiling. The evening has been an unparalleled success, and it warms his heart to see Jack at the center of it all, beaming like his face might break.

As though he feels Bitty’s eyes upon him, Jack turns, directly meeting his gaze. His smile fades into something smaller and fonder, and he tilts his head in the direction of the side exit.

Bitty’s grin tilts and he nods in response. He slips backstage to grab his jacket, then waits outside the door Jack had indicated, watching fluffy flakes flutter from the sky to join the growing drifts below.

Jack appears behind him a few moments later. They exchange meaningful glances and soft smiles without words, and set off together in the direction of the ski hills. The world is still and serene, wrapped up in the snow that muffles everything except the trudge of their footsteps.

When they’re out of sight of the lodge, Jack reaches out to pull Bitty into his side, tucking him there where he fits so well. Bitty lets the warmth soak in — the gesture, the heat of Jack’s body seeping through his jacket. They draw to a halt not far from where they’d had their conversation the very first night, and Bitty marvels at how much as changed since then, and how quickly.

Jack swings Bitty around to face him. He cups Bitty’s face in his hands — bare and somehow not frozen — and without hesitation, fits their lips together in a deep, fierce kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers when it’s over, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know how you managed all this, and I’m not sure that I deserve it. But thank you.”

“It was nothing, honey,” Bitty replies, “and you deserve to be this happy every single day.”

Jack’s smile looks watery now, and Bitty burrows into his chest, sighing when Jack’s arms come up around him. “I wish I could stay here every single day to make sure of it,” Bitty continues.

“So do I,” Jack says.

Bitty’s heart starts to thud dully behind his ribs. “Well, I have an idea about that,” he starts, speaking into the heavy fabric of Jack’s coat. “My life is in New York, but I —” he takes a deep breath “— I’d love to come and stay every once and a while, if you’d like that. For a week or two at a time even, or longer when we strike the show. If… if you’d like that,” he repeats.

Jack’s arms go a little tighter around him. “I wouldn’t like that,” Jack replies, and for a moment Bitty’s sure his heart is dropping right out of his body to spatter on the new-fallen snow. “I’d love it.”

“Oh, _you_ ,” Bitty sputters, pushing away from Jack’s chest, but he doesn’t go far. He’s locked in by the circle of Jack’s arms.

Jack just smiles at him. “Merry Christmas, Bitty.”

“Merry Christmas, Jack. I hope it’s the first of many.”

“And I hope they’re all white,” Jack says with a wink.

Bitty’s about to protest that, but Jack kisses him instead, while the snow falls all around them. Maybe he could get used to white Christmases after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Link to tumblr post coming soon :)


End file.
